Why?
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: Elya Rove wants to know why. Take a peek into a darker future Joaniverse. CHAPTER 11 UP.
1. The Truth And Other Lies

**Why?**

_by TeeJay_

* * *

**Summary:**  
_Elya Rove wants to know why. Take a peek into a darker future Joaniverse._

**Author's Note:**  
_Not much to say about this one. This stemmed from another scene-flash, one I had when I watched "Medium". Not sure it turned out the way I wanted it to be, but there's nothing we can do about that now. _

_This is like nothing I've written before in this fandom, and I never thought I'd write something like this. Don't worry, it's not R-rated or anything. (Been there, done that.)_ _Consider this a peek into a rather dark and depressing future Joaniverse. One I wouldn't like to see happening, to be honest._

_There's a lot of back story left unexplained, and I'm not going to explain it. There won't be a sequel to this. Take it as a status quo and weave your own background story with regard to what might have happened. I think it's pretty apparent that it involves Ryan. Feel free to let me know about your ideas in a review if you like. _:o)

**Disclaimer:**

_These characters and settings are not mine (except maybe for Elya Rove). Nor am I claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. I'm not making any money out of this, although I wish I was._

* * *

**Chapter 1 – The Truth And Other Lies**

"Dad, why did Mom leave?"

14-year-old Elya Rove looked at her father, who was sitting next to her bed. His face had been calm and loving as Adam Rove studied his daughter, but the direct question made a ripple of something unpleasant, something painful disrupt the quiet contemplation in his features. Even in his mid-thirties, he was still as handsome as the shy teenager he had been in High School, except maybe for the look of innocent reticence that had long since vanished.

Elya sat up in her bed and almost flinched at the sudden sadness she read in his eyes. She saw he tried to cover it up as soon as he became aware that she had noticed it.

They didn't talk about her mother often. They didn't talk about her mother—period. It was 'thema non grata' in the Rove household.

She could see he had trouble finding the right thing to say. But she didn't want the right thing to say; she wanted the truth. She had wondered about 'the truth' for so long, had not had the courage to ask the person closest to being able to offer it, next to her mother.

Her father finally spoke, his voice softer and more subdued than usual. "She ... she had to go, honey. There was something important she had to do."

"_Had_ to?" Elya wasn't going to settle for some vague allusion tonight. "What could be so important that she just abandons her husband and daughter?" Elya's voice became more pressing, more angry with every question she asked. When her father didn't answer immediately, she almost whispered, "Is it because of me?"

Adam's answer was immediate and surprisingly determined. "What? No. No, it's not because of you. Why would you even think that? Your mother loves you very much."

"Does she? Then tell me, _why_ did she leave us?" Elya's voice was laced with sarcastic anger now. "Why did she have to go?"

Her father sighed, his eyes shooting up, begging her not to press any further. She knew this was painful for him, but she wanted to know, needed to know. "Look," he tried to placate his daughter. "It's complicated."

"Then explain it to me."

"I ..." he wanted to fend off, but thought the better of it. "Your mother is a very special person. She has a very special gift, something that ... that most people don't understand."

"I'm not 'most people'," Elya said in a harsh tone. "I'm her daughter. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Yes. Yes, that counts for something, Elya. But it's not my place to tell you."

"Then whose place is it? Mom's?" She snorted out a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, like that's gonna happen. I don't think she's coming back. I mean, you've been saying for years that she'd return. Maybe I'm just sick of waiting."

"Elya—" Adam said, wanting to calm his daughter, but she wouldn't let him.

"_Why_, Dad? Why can't you tell me what's going on? I'm old enough, don't you think?"

She was on a streak, and she knew it, couldn't hold back all her anger, all her frustration. "Why is it that you talk with her on the phone at night in hushed voices, when you think I'm not listening. Why does she never call me, want to speak to me? Why is it that to me you pretend she doesn't exist? Why?"

The last question came out almost as a whisper and it made Adam's eyes go even wider with shock at the sudden realization that his daughter knew much more than she let on. "We ... we thought it would be easier that way," he said, his voice low.

"Easier?" Elya repeated. "Easier for who? For you? Must be, because it sure isn't for me." Her words had gone back to spewing pure sarcasm. "Not a day goes by where I don't wonder where my mother is, _who_ my mother is. I barely have any recollection of her. Why do you think it would be easy to just pretend that I don't have a mother?"

Adam had to swallow, and it was like the movement only increased the knot in his stomach. What could he tell his daughter—his daughter who was hurting and wanted answers? Answers that he couldn't give her, that only Joan could give her, if only she wouldn't refuse to talk to her own daughter.

How often had he tried when they talked on the phone? 'She really misses you,' he would say. She would just fall silent or change the subject. 'Can't you talk to her, explain it to her?' he would ask. She would answer in an exasperated voice, 'Adam, you know I can't.'

He had long given up trying to convince her. There was a time when he thought he'd had some kind of leverage on his wife. When had he lost the ability to make her listen to reason? Make her listen to him at all?

And now his daughter—_their_ daughter—thought he was hiding her own mother from her. And maybe he was. He looked at her, studied her—and almost flinched at how her soft, brown eyes, now radiating with a heated passion, reminded him of Joan's—of Jane's. God, _Jane_. He remembered Jane. Jane had long vanished from his life.

How could he explain to a fourteen-year-old why Joan had gone to fight her own fight? To fight God's fight. A fight that a husband and a daughter weren't included in. How could he explain to her that her mother talked to God. Yes, God. _The_ God. 'No way!' she would say. Would she?

"Dad?" Elya's voice, now much softer, pulled him from his reverie.

He went from staring at his lap to meeting her eyes. He knew that he couldn't give her the truth, so he settled for the next best thing: honesty.

"Okay, look," he began. "I can't tell you her reasons for leaving, but you have to know that this is about something bigger. Something bigger than you and me. Something that would make you give up your family. Elya, she misses you and she loves you. She went away because she had to, and I swear, it had nothing to do with you. And if she could, she would come back and be the mother to you that she always wanted to be." He paused, swallowed hard, almost begged her. "Please, you have to believe me."

Elya looked at him for a long, silent moment before she whispered, "Okay. Okay, Dad, I believe you."

She could see that tears were starting to shimmer in his eyes, tears that she knew he wanted to hide. He got up from his chair and bent down to kiss her on the forehead. "Go to sleep now," he told her in almost a whisper. Then he left the room, not looking back.

Outside his daughter's bedroom door, Adam stood, trying to keep it together. He was sick of the self-pity, the aching longing for that missing part to make their once happy family be whole again.

He slowly walked to his own bedroom and sat down on the king size bed, one of which halfs was now vacant, empty, abandoned. He put his head in his hands and for a moment indulged in the hollow sadness that washed over him.

He looked up when he noticed sudden movement from the doorframe. Silent, careful steps came closer, a warm body settled next to him on the bed. He could feel his daughter's warmth lightening up the frosty atmosphere of the otherwise deserted room.

This room had once been a safe haven, a place he loved spending time in. Their amazing daughter had been conceived in this room.

Now it was just a place you went to sleep in when you fell into bed at the end of the day, exhausted from the physical work for the small salary that just barely managed for you to make a comfortable life for you and your child. He had gotten rid of the happy, colorful bedspread Joan found on a bazaar a while ago. He had gotten rid of everything that reminded him of her—of Joan. One day he had entered the room and in a bout of rage and self-pity carried everything to the attic that screamed her name at him every single day.

Afterwards, this room remained nothing more than a very utilitarian bedroom. A bed, two bedside tables, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers. What more did you need?

He suddenly felt a warm hand on his thigh and heard Elya's low voice. "Dad, it's okay to miss her."

He sniffled his nose once, rubbing the back of one hand under it as she continued, "I miss her too, even though I don't really know her."

"I know," he whispered back. "I know. And I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I don't think it's your fault either," she told him.

When had his daughter become so wise, when had she grown up this much?

"But, please, don't act like she doesn't exist. I want to know about her. I want to learn what kind of person she is. Don't you think I deserve to know?"

Adam nodded. Yes, she certainly deserved that. He put his arm around his daughter and drew her closer, so that she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'll tell you what I can, what I remember."

And he found that there was more about Jane he remembered than he thought possible.

* * *


	2. Hidden Treasure

**Author's Note:**  
_Okay, so I said I wasn't going to continue this. Obviously I changed my mind. I know LostSchizophrenic and all the others who've been screaming for a continuation will jump up and down in their seats now (careful, you'll hurt yourself!). Somehow this future Joaniverse grew on me, and here's your next peek through the wormhole. Leave a review if you loathe or like it. Please. Indulge me._

_PS: Yes, there's more to come. LostSchizophrenic asked and I guess it never occurred to me that you might think this is all to it. You'll be glad to hear that I have at least six chapters in all lined out so far. Not all of them fully written, but it's all in my head somewhere. I don't know what happened, I didn't really want this to expand to more than one chapter in the beginning. Guess I'm having too much fun with this particular Joaniverse. _

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Hidden Treasure**

There was this corner on the attic that Elya had never really paid attention to. It was just there and you never questioned why or what might be hidden beneath the sheets that covered the shelves and hidden objects—whatever they were. It wasn't like she ventured onto the attic a lot anyway. As a kid it had always creeped her out, ever since her kindergarten friend Eli had told her that monsters lived up there and would be awoken if you made noises that were too loud.

The attic wasn't any less dark and dingy now than it had been then, but at least she now knew that monsters didn't exist. At least not the kind that resided on their attic. She made a beeline straight for that long forgotten corner, the one where there was almost no light. It now seemed like it had been arranged that way.

She shone the flashlight in the direction and the round cone of light grazed the graying sheets that were covering up ... something. Hopefully among that something would be what she was looking for. If her father refused to show her pictures of her mother, then she'd have to find them herself. And she was quite sure that they'd be hidden up here. Unless her father had burned them or otherwise disposed of them, but he didn't strike her as the type who would just throw them out.

Drawing closer, she carefully lifted one of the sheets, coughing at the dust that rose up in the air. Underneath, she found a cardboard box with various decorative items that she vaguely remembered having seen before, in her parents' bedroom. Candleholders and candles, a few colorful cushions, a yellow and a blue glass vase and other items she didn't look at in detail.

Maneuvering the box aside so she could move forward to the next covered items, her eyes fell on a wooden box that looked like it might just contain photos or similar memorabilia. She carefully took it in her hands and opened it. Inside she found not photos, but instead a few CDs and a key. The band names and singers on the CD covers didn't tell her anything, so she took out the key, illuminating it with the flashlight.

She looked around, searching for something that might have the keyhole that this key would fit in. Her eyes fell on a small door in the pitched roof area that might just be what she was looking for. How come she had never noticed this door?

She had to scramble over some more items to get to the door, and when she put the key in the hole and turned it, she was almost surprised that the door lock indeed opened without much resistance. Carefully, she aimed the flashlight's beam at the inside. More items and boxes covered by sheets greeted her line of sight.

She edged closer, bending her back slightly because the sloped roof didn't leave enough room for her to stand upright. The object she was standing in front of reached up to her hip and when she removed the dust-covered sheet from it, she didn't immediately know what she was looking at. It was a sculpture of some kind, bent wires melting into each other, metal objects contorted and entwined in a way that the didn't know whether to decide it was beauty or crap. She made a face and moved on to the next item.

There were more of these sculpture-like things, and Elya began to think that maybe these had been made by either her father or her mother. Why else would they keep something like this hidden in a locked up compartment?

The next sheet-covered mount looked like something more square in shape and revealed a set of paintings in oil or acrylic, she guessed. She had never been interested much in art. The first one was something abstract, something she couldn't identify. She went through a couple of them, losing interest after the third or fourth meaningless patterned one. But the next one captured her attention, almost making her gasp. A woman's portrait looked at her, her hair long and brown, her eyes filled with something she couldn't quite explain and yet something that tugged at her subconscious. And even though her recollection of the appearance of her mother was vague at best, she immediately knew that this was Joan—this was her mother.

She pulled the painting out of the pile and looked at it more closely. In the bottom right corner was a set of initials: A.R. Adam Rove. So her father painted? And painted well, if this was really his artwork. "Wow," she said in awe.

She put the painting down and went through the rest of them, but she didn't find any others that had any particular meaning to her. She moved on to the shelf on the right, finding a small portfolio binder that she opened with rapt curiosity. Inside were sketches and drawings. A lot of them depicted her—Joan. Elya looked around for a place to sit and chose a vacant spot near the wall for lack of a better object to sit on. The binder in her lap, she put the flashlight on the shelf next to her and went through the drawings one by one.

She admired each and every one of them. A lot of them were of her mother, smiling, sad, sleeping, sometimes with a pregnant belly. There were also sketches of her—of Elya, as a baby or a toddler. Or at least that's who she assumed they depicted. She hadn't found any photos, but maybe this was even better.

One drawing caught her attention especially. It was a portrait of her mother, who couldn't have been much older than sixteen or seventeen. Her hair was as long and straight as on the other images, but this time she didn't smile or laugh. Her eyes were desperate, sad, maybe even angry. A single tear slid down her face. It was as if Elya was overcome by the very sadness that her mother must have felt in that moment. This was her mother, through the eyes of her father.

Her head shot up when she heard noises, then her name being called. Her father must have come home from work, seeing the attic ladder down. But she didn't really care whether she had just been found out. She wanted answers from him, answers why he was hiding all these beautiful drawings and paintings away.

"Elya?" he called again, his voice coming closer. She stood up just as her father's head appeared in the doorway. She couldn't read his face very well because of the murky light, but his voice told her he was angry. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"I ..." she first stammered, then defiantly told him, "I found the key." She lifted the portfolio binder and then took the flashlight to illuminate the painting of her mother on the floor. "Why are you hiding all this, hiding her? Dad, these are beautiful."

He snatched the binder from her hands with a force she hadn't expected, putting it down heedlessly on the floor, away from her. He took her by her upper arm so firmly that she was sure she'd have a bruise there the next day. "Let's go," he hissed, almost dragging from the room so that all she could do was lift her feet to not stumble over random items strewn on the floor.

"Ouch," she yelped. "Let go of me," she spat at him. But he didn't relent his grip on her arm and only released his hand when they stood outside the small compartment's door and Adam had closed it behind them, locking it with the key and pocketing it.

Rubbing her arm, she glared at her father in the dim light. "You have no right to keep this from me!" she yelled at him. "She's my mother too. Just because you don't want to be reminded of her doesn't mean that I have to feel the same way! I hate you!" With that she turned and stormed towards the attic's opening and climbed down the steep stairs as fast as she could. She slipped and stumbled down the last two steps, yelping, "Shit!"

Limping slightly, she ran into her room, slammed the door and locked it behind her. In the silence that followed, she heard her father coming down the stairs as well, approaching her bedroom door.

"Elya," he said, his voice muffled by the door between them, but sounding apologetic all the same. "Look, I'm sorry. Can we talk about this?"

"Not now," she called towards the door, sitting on her bed, rubbing her aching ankle.

"Open the door. Please," he begged.

"Go away," Elya told him, her voice cold.

Silence greeted her and she was quite sure that her father had left. She just didn't understand him, didn't understand why he was getting so angry at her for wanting to know who her mother was. He couldn't blame her for wanting to know, could he? He'd feel the same way if he was in her shoes, she was sure about that. And it made her even angrier.

If her father wouldn't tell her who her mother was, then she'd have to find someone else who could. She switched on her computer and went online. If in doubt, ask Google.

* * *


	3. Meet The :Grand:Parents

**Chapter 3 – Meet The (Grand)Parents**

"What a joke of a city," thought Elya as she got off the bus that had taken her right into the heart of the suburbs of Arcadia. She looked at the note in her hand, that read in her own scribbled handwriting '2320 Euclid Avenue'. She fished a strand of her straight, shoulder length brown hair out of her face that a gust of wind had just blown there.

Looking up, she scanned the street numbers on the cozy, little houses with the neat front porches, gardens and flower beds. _Is this what they call "mundane"?_ she thought as she walked down the street to find the house with the number 2320.

The cell phone in her jeans pocket vibrated and she took it out to press the 'Silence' button when she read the caller's identity. "Not now, Dad," she muttered more to herself than anyone else. Because who should she talk to, there was not a soul in sight in this much too ordinary looking part of town. For a second she was painfully aware how worried her dad must be, what with her just taking off like that after the fight they'd had, but she would deal with that later. After all, she was on a mission.

An unpleasant knot of anticipation formed in her stomach as she stopped opposite number 2320. She took a second to take in the house's exterior. Same ordinary build, ordinary front porch, ordinary path framed by neatly trimmed lawn as all the other houses. She didn't know if she should take comfort in the normalcy or if she should be annoyed by it.

Drawing in a breath, she walked up the path to the porch and stood in front of the door, hesitating a second before she rang the doorbell. A two-tone gong was immediately audible and Elya held her breath to listen for approaching footsteps.

There were noises on the other side all right, but not footsteps. Elya's forehead wrinkled in confusion for a second, and then she almost jumped a step back when the door suddenly opened. Her gaze went down a notch to study the person in the wheelchair that greeted her. Short, brown hair, maybe in his late thirties by her best estimate.

"Anything I can help you with?" the wheelchair guy asked.

For a minute she wasn't sure what to say. This sure wasn't what she had expected. This couldn't be her grandfather. "Oh, I—" she stammered. "I, uhm ..."

A grin spread over the person's face as he said, "Lost your thread?"

"Yeah, no, I ... Who are you?" she finally blurted out.

"Kevin Girardi," said the wheelchair guy. "And you are ...?"

Girardi? This was family? Elya wasn't sure how to respond. Should she reveal her true identity? Cautiously, she said, "Elya."

Kevin's eyes narrowed as if he was assessing her. Did he know who she was? "Elya who?" he finally asked. Okay, obviously he was clueless.

"Elya Rove," she then said. Oh boy, too late to turn back now.

"Rove?" Kevin said, astonished. "As in _Adam_ Rove?"

"Uh, yeah. That's my dad."

"Your dad?" Kevin looked surprised for a second. "Wow, I didn't know he had a kid," Kevin said off handedly. Obviously, the implications hadn't yet fully registered. But then they did. "Wait a sec. You're not ... Joan isn't ... your mother, is she?"

Elya nodded, then verbally confirmed, "Yes, she's my mom. Or at least that's what they tell me."

Kevin was slack-jawed. "Wow, I ... I don't know what to say." Then, after the initial shock had dissipated, he asked her, "Look, why don't you come in?"

"Okay," Elya said and stepped into the hallway. As she followed Kevin into the living area and then the kitchen, she took a look at the surroundings. The mostly wooden furniture was in darker tones, but it didn't seem depressing. Tasteful decorations and rugs gave the house a cozy look.

She imagined her mother having grown up here and suddenly felt a stab of envy in her stomach. This seemed like a perfect, little home to grow up in, all secure and protected and loving. Why had she never had a home like this? It just seemed unfair. It wasn't that her father didn't love her, but sometimes she just missed her mother—a mother she never really knew.

Kevin gestured for her to sit down at the rectangle kitchen table. "You want anything to eat or drink?"

Elya shook her head. "Naw, I'm good, thanks."

Kevin joined her at the table at the one vacant place that didn't have a chair in front. "So, what brings you here?" he asked Elya.

"I ..." Elya was back to stammering. "I wanted to meet my grandparents, actually."

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Kevin replied, sounding confused. "My sister is your mother and Adam Rove is your father. And you're how old? Thirteen? Fourteen? And neither Adam nor Joan thought it might be in order to inform the family that they had a daughter? Do you have any more siblings that we should know about?"

"No, there's just me," Elya stated. "And I'm fourteen." She studied Kevin closer. So, this was her uncle? This her father hadn't told her when he had talked about her mother the other night.

"How about you, do you have any more siblings?" Elya asked back.

Kevin looked disconcerted for a second. "Uhm ... yeah. I have a younger brother, Luke. Your parents didn't tell you?"

No, her parents didn't tell her. Why would her father tell her? It seemed like he had kept pretty much everything that involved her mother from her. What was that gonna accomplish, she thought with an angry bitterness rising up her throat. Why would her father ever think she'd be better off not knowing?

"No, they didn't tell me," she said with an acrid edge to her tone. "Dad never tells me anything about my mom. It's like he pretends she doesn't exist."

Kevin looked at her, his eyes widening just a little. If in surprise or contempt, she couldn't tell. His voice serious, he asked, "Does your father know you're here?"

Elya looked down at the lavender colored tablemat, fumbling with the edge of it with one hand. "No," she meekly admitted. Then, more forcefully, she added, "No, and why should he? He doesn't care about anything that involves your family. Hell, I didn't even know I had two uncles until today!" she spat out forcefully.

Kevin studied her, his face carefully neutral. Trying to sound placating, he told Elya, "Look, I'm sure he had his reasons not to tell you."

"Reasons?" Elya repeated, "Yeah, you grown-ups always have reasons for everything." She snorted an angry breath out through her nose.

Kevin lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, I'm just saying that I think he'd be worrying where you are. I'm guessing you didn't tell him you were leaving either, did you?"

Damn, this guy really had the ability to look through her. Was she really that predictable? Kevin left the table and went into the living room, coming back with a phone. He held it out to Elya. "Wanna give him a call?"

Elya shook her head. Defiantly, she told Kevin. "No. He doesn't tell me all the important things either, why should I?"

Sighing, Kevin said, "Then I'm afraid I'll have to."

Elya's eyes widened. "You wouldn't do that," she said, staring at Kevin. She didn't care that she had just met him. She just wanted her father to smolder in uncertainty a little while longer. He deserved that.

Little did she know that, about thirty miles away, Adam Rove was pacing up and down the kitchen, sick with worry. He had called all of Elya's friends, spoken to their parents, her teachers. No one had seen her or heard a word from her since yesterday. It was the only thing he took comfort in that he found 100 missing from the secret cash stash that he hadn't thought Elya knew about, figuring she might have taken the money and gone somewhere on her own account instead of having been kidnapped.

"Elya," Kevin said, using her name for the first time. His voice was stern. "If you were my daughter and I'd have found you gone without a word, I'd be going insane with worry. I'd at least wanna know you're okay."

"Fine, call him, if you need to," Elya told Kevin. "But don't tell him to pick me up, I can take care of myself." She tried to sound confident, maybe a little rebellious. She wasn't a baby anymore, why would her father still treat her like one all the time?

She watched as Kevin got a little notebook out of a drawer and then dialed a number from it. She couldn't hear her father's voice, but studying Kevin's face told her enough as she watched him converse with her father. She heard him tell Adam that his daughter was with him and that she was okay but that she didn't want him to pick her up.

She also wanted to clap her hands over her ears because her bad conscience was suddenly starting to nag at her. She didn't want to picture her father worrying about where she was. But deep down, she knew he was.

"Okay, I'll take her," Kevin finished the conversation before hanging up the phone. Kevin looked at her, saying, "Come on, I'll drive you home."

"What, I don't even get to meet my grandparents?" Elya asked.

Kevin sighed, then told her, "It's ... Look, okay, I'll take you to them."

"Wait a minute," Elya said, her gaze lingering on Kevin's wheelchair. "You ... can drive a car?"

Kevin had to laugh despite himself. "Never heard of hand controls?"

"Well, I have _now_. Cool. I didn't know people like you could do that."

"People like me?" Kevin flashed a challenging grin at her. "You mean, gimps like me?"

Elya actually looked uncomfortable for the first time. "No, I ... I didn't..."

But Kevin quickly reassured her. "Hey, don't worry, it's okay." He lightly slapped one wheel of his chair. "I've been living with this thing and this particularly useless pair of legs for about 20 years now. I'm used to it." He wheeled out into the hallway. "Come on, let's go."

Elya cautiously followed him out of the house. She lingered by the passenger door before getting in, not sure if Kevin maybe needed help getting into the car or getting his wheelchair loaded up. Kevin noticed and assured her, "You can get in, I can do this myself."

"Okay," she said hesitantly. From inside the car, she watched as Kevin hoisted himself from the wheelchair onto the passenger seat with a few, practiced movements and then folded the chair up and put it onto the backseat. Elya was amazed: The whole process didn't take longer than a minute.

And she had to admit that it filled with a certain kind of pride that she had an uncle as cool as this.

As soon as Kevin had backed the car out of the driveway, he quickly looked at Elya before gazing back at the street in front of him and said, "So, let me get this straight. You're Joan and Adam's daughter, but you don't know anything about your mother's family. What exactly _do_ you know?"

Unaware that he hit on an even more touchy subject than suspected, Elya answered, "I don't know anything. That's the problem. Dad never talks about Mom. The other day, we sat down and he told me a few things from how they got to know each other and when I was a kid, but he wouldn't even show me pictures. I mean, I know it's kinda painful for him, but he could at least let me talk to her when they speak on the phone."

Kevin had to keep from gaping at her. "You don't even speak to your mother? Wow, that's ... Why?" he then asked.

Elya snorted a disdainful breath out through her nose. "Yeah, that's what _I'd_ like to know as well." She looked at Kevin. "I don't know why they won't let me talk to her. I'd really like to meet her, get to know her. Do you know where she is?"

Kevin looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, I ... The last time I saw her was years ago. Six, maybe seven. I mean, she calls, like twice a year, but she never says much about what she's doing or where she is. She's always been like that, going off on her little projects without explanation. As if she's on some kind of secret mission. No one really understood why, not at the time and not now. I don't even think your father knew what kept her going."

Kevin briefly wondered if Elya knew about her parents' history. They had found each other back in High School, but things hadn't exactly been going according to plan then. He had often wondered why his sister would have gotten back together with Adam, after things had fallen apart the year before graduation. But love sometimes worked in mysterious ways, he sure knew about that.

Elya's gaze was now fixed on something straight ahead, not focused on anything in particular. Thoughtfully, she said, "I know there's something special about her, but Dad won't talk about that either. Says that it's not his place to tell me. That's bullshit. I wanna know what's going on, I _deserve_ to know what's going on!" Her voice was becoming bitter and angry again. She turned her head to look at Kevin again. "Do _you_ know what's going on?"

Kevin shook his head. "Not really. All I know is that at one point she just up and left. Didn't give any of us an explanation other than that it was very important. Just like that. Believe me, we tried, but no one could get anything out of her. Luke came up with some wild CIA or Secret Service theory, but I don't think that was it. None of us knew she had a daughter, though. That makes everything so much more complicated. You must have been ... how old when she left? Four? Five?"

"Four," Elya explained.

"That's tough," Kevin just said. He was even more confused about Joan leaving now than he had been then. What would prompt a loving mother to leave her four-year-old child with her father, not even seeing or speaking to her again?

He hadn't exactly been a big fan of Adam back in the day, and he didn't think of him as a friend now, but he could only imagine how hard it must have been on him. He hadn't seen Adam since Joan had become Mrs. Rove and they had announced they were gonna move out of Arcadia to the next town over. It was like Joan had severed ties with her family from that point on, at least to a certain extent. Family get-togethers hadn't exactly been on the agenda anymore after that.

"We're almost there," Kevin announced, turning the car to the right to maneuver it into a vacant parking spot. Getting out of the car was as quick an affair as getting out for Kevin. Elya stood next to him as she used the car's remote control to lock it, looking around. The concrete wall she was standing in front of was only interrupted by a metal gate, next to which there was a brass plaque that read 'Penfield Cemetery – admittance between 8 AM and 8 PM only'.

She looked at Kevin questioningly. "A cemetery? My grandparents are dead?"

Kevin slowly nodded. "Sadly, yes."

He started wheeling towards the entrance and Elya followed him in silence. She didn't know what to say. This was surely not how she had expected things to be.

Kevin stopped in front of a row of headstones and when Elya read the names, she realized that these must be the graves of her grandparents. The two headstones read 'William Giorgio Girardi' and 'Helen Nicole Girardi' and as she studied them closer, she took in that her grandfather had died not a year after her own birth. Her grandmother died six years ago. Elya guessed that her funeral had been the occasion where Kevin had last met his sister in person.

"How did they die?" Elya asked Kevin.

"Dad had an MI." Kevin's voice had taken on a slightly sad edge. When Elya looked at him with a furrowed brow, he explained. "Heart attack. It all happened very fast, no one saw it coming."

"Mom was in a car crash. Some guy in an SUV just plowed into her. She didn't have a chance, died on the scene. We were all pretty shocked, especially after we had already lost Dad." He verified Elya's assumption when he pointed at Will's headstone and said, "Mom's funeral, that was the last time I saw your mother."

There was a pause and then Kevin looked up at Elya. "Do you ... want some time alone, to say goodbye?"

Elya thought for a second, then shook her head. "No, it's okay. I mean ... I didn't even know them. But I wish I had." Her voice was sad, full of regret for chances having been missed, chances that would never return.

"They were great parents." Kevin smiled slightly. "The best. It wasn't always easy, especially after my accident, but we all got our act together and got through it. I don't think I could have wished for a better childhood."

Another stab of envy shot through Elya's stomach. She wished for a better childhood. A childhood that included an actual mother. And a mother's family.

Kevin's voice pulled her from her reverie. "Let's get you home."

Elya only reluctantly followed him back to the car.

* * *


	4. Homecoming

**Chapter 4 – Homecoming**

The car halted in front of the small house that Elya had directed Kevin to. Kevin looked out the passenger side window. "So, this is it?"

"Yeah," Elya half sighed and watched Kevin as he, once again, hoisted his wheelchair out of the car and got in. This time she wasn't so eager to exit the vehicle.

Kevin came to the passenger door and opened it. "You coming or not?"

"He's gonna be mad," she stated and both Kevin and her knew whom she was talking about.

"Nah," Kevin assured her. "He's gonna be glad that you're home. You'll see."

"I'm not so sure," Elya said skeptically.

"Only one way to find out," was Kevin's reply as he nodded towards the house. "Come on."

Elya's answer was to get out of the car after all. She let Kevin go first, but then realized that he wouldn't be able to get up the three front steps to the front door. Kevin stopped in front of them, turning the wheelchair so that it stood with its back towards the stairs. "I think you'll have to help me with those."

Elya looked confused for a moment. "How?"

Kevin explained to her how she could aid in getting the chair up the stairs, which turned out not as difficult as she had thought.

She barely had time to prepare for facing her father's wrath, or relieved happiness, or whatever was to come. Adam had heard the commotion outside and opened the door just as Elya and Kevin had mastered the last step.

For a second, the threesome just stood, not saying anything. Elya looked to the ground, ashamed for some reason. She started, "Dad, I ..."

But he just quickly went over to her and pulled her into an embrace—something she had not expected. She just stood limply for a second, then carefully returned the hug.

"Do you know how scared I was?" he muttered into her hair. "Don't ever do that again, you hear me?"

Something else she had not expected happened—she felt tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to ..." she stumbled, not sure how to tell him that she was now truly sorry for just running off.

Her father released her from their embrace and she wasn't surprised to see his eyes shining with a hint of tears which he quickly tried to blink back. She knew he didn't want to cry in front of Kevin.

Adam turned to Joan's elder brother. "Kevin, thank you for getting her home. I owe you. Come in, please." Adam gestured inside, thinking quickly. Were there any more steps or other obstacles for Kevin inside? No, he didn't think so.

"Sure," Kevin just said and followed Adam and Elya.

Adam, Elya and Kevin went into the kitchen, but before Elya could sit down at the table, Adam told her, "I'd like you to go to your room."

Elya looked at Adam pleadingly. "Dad ... I wanna know what's going on."

"Please, Elya," he said, the tone of his voice serious and determined in a way that Elya knew it didn't leave any room for negotiation. With somewhat of a pouty face, she did as she was told, but not without lingering on the stairs. The kitchen door was being closed, presumably by her father, and she knew she wouldn't be able to listen in unless she stood with her ear pressed to the door.

She briefly wondered if she was going to be punished for her little escapade. Grounded maybe? A month's worth of kitchen duty? Dad knew how much she hated washing up. Why couldn't they afford a dishwasher, like all her friends' parents? Sighing heavily, she went into her room. But she still thought the trip had been worth it, whatever her punishment was going to be.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Adam pulled one of the chairs away from the table, so that Kevin could position his wheelchair at it before Adam himself sat down. There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence before Adam said, "Thank you for taking Elya home."

"No problem." Kevin narrowed his eyes almost disdainfully. The sarcasm in voice was clearly audible as he said, "It was good to finally get to know my niece. I just wish I had known I even _had_ a niece, though, and not only find out now, after fourteen years."

A pained expression crossed Adam's face. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. It ... We decided it would be best if no one knew at the time. I mean, things weren't exactly great between us and your family then, and as soon as Joan found out she was pregnant, she decided it would be best not to tell you. Guess we never managed to gather the courage to tell you at a later time. And then, when Joan left ..." Adam stopped, looking at Kevin. "When was the last time you saw her?" he asked him.

"My mother's funeral, six years ago."

Adam had to keep hard from gaping as Kevin's statement fully registered. "Your mother's dead?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, she died in a car crash. You didn't know?"

"No," Adam said, just above a whisper. "No, Joan never told me."

Kevin sat up a little straighter. "Adam, I know it's not my place to pry, but what exactly _is_ going on here? Joan suddenly vanishes with only so much of an explanation. She leaves you and your daughter behind, doesn't tell you her mother died. You never tell us about Elya and then she suddenly turns up at my house, asking about her mother and her family." He lifted his arms slightly in a gesture of lack of comprehension. "I don't understand this, any of this."

Adam sighed a heavy sigh. He'd had a feeling this was going to happen eventually. Someone would ask questions and he'd have no way to bend the truth enough to offer a satisfactory explanation. And he was getting sick of fabricating lie after lie or saying that he didn't know or couldn't say. But what choice did he have? He had promised Joan that he would not tell anyone about her true motives. And that promise he intended to keep, at any cost.

"Kevin," he began. "There's ... there's something about Joan that you don't know, and it's something I can't tell you. Something that explains all of this, or at least part of it." He gave Kevin a pleading look. "Please don't ask me about it, because I cannot tell you."

Kevin's brow furrowed in confusion. "Okay. No, not okay. But there's nothing we can do about it, can we? I'd like to say that it's not fair to keep what you know to yourself, but I guess you have your reasons. Like Joan has hers. But I think it's time that we did something about it. I mean, look at Elya. She needs the answers just as badly as I do. Have you talked to your wife recently? Told her what's going on around here?"

"We talked on the phone three weeks ago, maybe. She calls every now and then. Never leaves a number to call back, never tells me where she is. Believe me, if I'd had a way to track her down, I'd have done it a long time ago." Adam's face bore a pained expression now. There was so much bitterness and rejection and abandonment in the air that he sometimes thought it would seek him out at night and stifle him.

Very quietly, Adam went on. "I mean, I love her, I still do. But ten years ... that's quite a stretch. It gets harder and harder. Sometimes I don't even know if she really is the person that I remember." His voice picking up some more resolve, he looked at Kevin. "I'd have to agree with you. We need to do something about it." Adam rubbed his face with his hands. "If only I knew how or what."

"Does she send e-mails sometimes? Any kind of written communication?"

Adam shook his head. "No. Phone calls only."

"Okay, then that won't help us. Okay, give me some time. I'll think of something." He looked at Adam, his face hopeful.

"Thanks, Kevin," Adam said, and meant it. "Give me a call if you find out anything. Anything at all."

"Sure," Kevin said. "And now that I know I have a niece, it would be nice to see some more of her."

"All right," Adam readily agreed. "I think that can be easily arranged."

Kevin steered his wheelchair towards the door, ready to leave. Adam helped him down the stairs, but before Kevin went on towards the car, he looked back at Adam. "You might want to give Luke a call. I think he'd like to know he has a niece as well, and he shouldn't be hearing it from me."

Adam slowly nodded. "Yeah, I'll call him."

With that, Kevin left and Adam went back into the house, closing the door behind him. He lingered in the corridor for a minute, looking at himself in the mirror that hung on the wall next to the coat rack. Absently taking in the crow's feet that were only just visible around his eyes, he wondered where the time had gone. Sometimes those ten years without Joan seemed like an eternity, sometimes like the snap of a finger. When exactly had he turned from love-struck teenager to troubled father? He couldn't remember exactly.

But there was another matter at hand that he had to attend to. He drew in a breath and started to trudge up the stairs to Elya's room.

Softly rapping on her bedroom door, he listened for an answer. When there was none, he said to her through the closed door, "Elya? Can I come in?"

Her voice was neutrally indifferent. "Yeah, whatever."

Adam sighed. This wasn't going to be easy. But when had it ever been easy? He slowly opened the door to see Elya sitting on her bed with her back against the headboard, her knees drawn up, a book in her lap. From her determined stare, he guessed she hadn't really read much from the book tonight.

He sat down on the desk chair and swiveled it around so that he was facing her.

"Am I grounded?" she asked, raising her voice provocatively, but not looking at him.

"Oh yeah, you're grounded all right," Adam told her. "For a week. At least."

"Great," Elya muttered sarcastically. "No jujitsu practice either, I take it."

"No, no jujitsu or any other activities," Adam said in a harsher tone than he had intended. It softened considerably as he asked her, "Look, can we talk?"

She defiantly gazed straight ahead, refused to meet his eyes or even look at him. "Oh, _now_ you want to talk. Except we don't talk about what I wanna talk about. So, remind me, _why_ should we talk again?"

"Elya ..." he half sighed. "In fact, this is exactly what we need to talk about."

"Oh yeah? Then let me say this. I want to get to know my mother. I want to know what kind of person she was, what kind of person she _is_. And you refuse to let me, so tell me, what was I supposed to do? Just sit around and wait until you maybe, some day decide that it's time for me to learn about my mother? Or maybe just rot in ignorance until all hell freezes over?"

Adam flustered slightly, sitting up a little straighter. "And running away is the answer?" he asked, his voice firm.

"In case you haven't noticed," she said defiantly, "I didn't run _away_, I went to see my uncle. An uncle I didn't even know I had!" she spat at her father. "Because you wouldn't tell me. And don't tell me you didn't know, because I won't believe you."

"No," he said. "I knew. Of course I knew." He rubbed his face with his hands. How had it come to this? "This is all very complicated. It's not that we didn't think you didn't deserve to know, but there's more to it than that. A _lot_ more."

"No, to me it's very simple. I have a mother who went away. I don't know why she did. I don't know anything about her, _or_ her family. I have a father who knows all about her, her reasons, and all about her family, but he won't tell me anything. He won't let me talk to my mother, won't even show me pictures. Now, look at me and tell me to my face that you wouldn't feel the same way if you were in my shoes. Look at me and honestly tell me." She now stared at him, her gaze piercing him with an urgency and resoluteness that he wasn't used to from her.

He didn't know what to say. She was right, he would most probably feel the same way. But she just didn't see the whole picture, and Adam knew she wouldn't understand if he just gave her more vague allusions.

When he didn't say anything for a few seconds, her voice became more resigned, bitter. "You see, that's what I thought. And you know why? You know _exactly_ what it's like. You know what it's like to grow up without a mother, don't you? Is this what you're trying to do?" she asked, angrily raising her voice again. "Punishing me for your fucked up childhood, making me go through the same thing just because your mother killed herself?"

Adam's brow furrowed. Those words, those accusations drove deep—deeper than Elya realized and probably intended. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, and he didn't know if they were tears of anger or sorrow or hurt.

"How dare you," he growled, his eyes dark with rage and disappointment. "You don't get to speak about my mother that way. You don't know what it was like. You don't have the faintest idea, Elya. And, believe me, you don't wanna know." His voice suddenly cracked and he stopped to gain control over his emotions again. More quietly, he repeated, "You don't wanna know." He wiped away the one stray tear that had rolled down his cheek in the heat of the moment.

There was dead silence. Elya was painfully aware she had gone too far. She stole a glance at her father and very meekly said, "I'm sorry, Dad. I shouldn't have said that."

He sniffled his nose once, then coldly said, "That's right, you shouldn't." He stood up and left the room, the door's lock clicking into place very softly behind him.

She stared at it for a long time, her own eyes filling with tears that she let seep down her face freely. She knew she had just disappointed him. Disappointed him in more ways than she could imagine. "I'm sorry, Dad, so sorry," she whispered again, aware that he wasn't able to hear it.

She knew she just couldn't leave it at that. Deep down inside she also knew that her father was having a hard enough time as it was, how could she go and give him even more grief? But it was just so hard to see all that above all the unfairness that she felt thrown at her sometimes.

She quickly wiped at her cheeks with her palms, rearranging the few loose strands of hair that had fallen in her face from the ponytail at the back of her neck. She tiptoed down the stairs and went into the living room, finding her father sitting on the couch, his head in his hands.

Wordlessly, she sat down next to him. She lightly touched his arm, repeating what she had said earlier. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad at me." She felt tears well up in her eyes again and tried to blink them back but wasn't having much success with it.

He sat up and put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her to him. "It's okay," he softly said, stroking her upper arm with one hand. "Oh Elya, what are we gonna do?" he sighed.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I don't know, Dad," she said in a teary voice. "Stick together, maybe?"

"I wish it was that easy." His voice was heavy with a burden that she wished he didn't have to carry.

Elya removed her head from her father's shoulder and sat up. "Why is it so hard for you to tell me about Mom? If I knew, maybe it'd be easier for me to understand why you can't talk about her. I just wanna understand. Don't you see that?" she softly asked.

"Of course I see that, Honey," Adam told her. "And don't you think I would tell you all the things that explain it if I could? And please don't ever think I'm punishing you, because that couldn't be farther from the truth. I know you want answers, answers I can't give you. I have tried, I have tried so hard to do my best, tried so hard all these years. Maybe one day you'll understand. I know that isn't much comfort right now, but it's the best I can do."

"Can you at least tell me about the sculptures and the paintings?" Elya softly prodded. "Are they all from you?"

Adam had to smile slightly at the memory. There were such a lot of bittersweet memories in his past, in _their_ past—his and Joan's. Very slowly, he began to tell his daughter about how he had started welding and sculpting when he was barely her age. How Joan had been the first person to see what it meant to him, to see the beauty in his artwork. How she had won his heart before he even knew it himself. He told her the things he hadn't told her before from Joan's and his past.

He also told her how he had stopped doing any of it—sculpting, drawing, painting—after Joan had left. It had always felt like something that connected him to her, and once she had severed that connection, his urge and ability to capture inspiration in metal form or images had slowly faded until they had reached the point of non-existence.

Elya listened quietly, but curiously. When he had finished, she asked, "Can't we put up one of those beautiful drawings of her that you did? You know, to remember that she's out there somewhere? I'm sick of pretending she doesn't exist. Maybe then it won't be so hard to think about her, talk about her." She looked at her father questioningly.

His face took on a thoughtful expression. She could see that he wasn't enthusiastic about the suggestion, but she could also see him struggling with refusing her request.

"Please," she added.

"Okay," he finally said. "We'll pick one together, how about that?"

Elya now smiled. "That would be awesome, Dad."

Adam also smiled. It wasn't often that he was considered 'awesome' by his daughter. And he thought he might as well start somewhere, while they were talking about old times and old memories. "So, you met your uncle Kevin then, huh?"

Elya gave him a surprised look. She never would have expected her father to start talking about him on his own. "Yeah. He seems like a cool guy. How did he end up in the wheelchair? I think he mentioned an accident or something like that."

"Yes, he was in a car crash. Must be close to twenty years now. Your mother was still a teenager then." Adam leaned back on the couch and suddenly remembered something. He got up and got the phone and a little notebook. "How about we give your other uncle, Luke, a call?"

* * *


	5. Reconnecting

**Chapter 5 – Reconnecting**

"Jane."

He hadn't called her by her old nickname in such a long time and the word sounded strangely unfamiliar. She cradled the phone to her ear, slowly pacing the hotel room. His voice was familiarly low and almost pleading now as he went on. "I'd like you to come home."

"Adam." There was a certain exasperation in her voice. They had been over this so many times. He had begged her to come home, in the beginning more often than now. She thought he might have given up, might have seen how it was a futile undertaking to ask her to return after all these years.

His voice was barely above a whisper, and she didn't think she had heard it this desperate in a long time. "Jane, please. Things are falling apart." There was a pregnant pause, then: "I need you."

She had to swallow and sat down on the bed, absently stroking the beige bedspread, the velour fibers catching on the chapped skin of her fingertips. "Adam, please stop asking me to come home. You know I can't. You know I have important things to do here."

His voice became angrier. And oh-so tired. "You don't know what it's like, having to keep things from our daughter. Having to lie to her. Having to put her off with empty promises. She keeps asking questions, questions I can't answer. At least speak to her. Please." With his last word he was back to that desperate plea she thought she had long learned how to ignore.

Joan's hand went to her forehead as she sighed. There was only so much more of this she could take. She had built up a pretty good resistance to pleas from her husband, had excelled in the art of outright dismissal and refusal to let him get to her. Something she had grown accustomed to, no matter how much it had pained her to learn that lesson. How was it that suddenly it was like he had struck a nerve, that she was beginning to weaken?

As she ground her teeth, Adam's voice filtered through to her ear. "At least tell me where you are."

She was beginning to sound like a broken record. "I can't," was her simple answer and she already anticipated his angered reply.

But it never came, and she didn't know whether to take comfort in that or not. Instead, his voice was matter-of-fact, resigned. "Kevin was here the other day. Elya and I ... we had a fight and she ran away, went to find her grandparents—_your_ parents. Kevin brought her home. Guess the secret's out now." There was a certain accusation in his voice as he asked her, "Joan, why didn't you tell me your mother died?"

There was silence, heavy and building up to the point of almost unbearable. Joan was at a loss of what to say. She hated keeping things from her husband—and the truth was, she didn't know why she had never told him. It seemed like too painful a thing to talk about back then, and after a while she felt that it didn't matter anymore whether he knew or not. How could she ever think that it didn't matter? Her mother had been like a mother to him, been the mother he had lost all those years ago.

Maybe it was the guilt. The guilt that she had come to Arcadia to say goodbye to her mother but not to visit her husband and her own daughter, who were just a couple of miles away.

Suddenly despair washed over her, drowning her senses. She had seen what Adam's mother's death had done to him, how could she let her own daughter grow up without a mother? How could _He_ let her daughter grow up without a mother?

"Damn you!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"What?" came Adam's voice from the other end of the phone.

"No ... I ..." she stammered. Her voice was meek, full of regret. Something she had thought she had forgotten how to sound, how to be. "I'm sorry, Adam. I should have told you, I—"

"Damn right, you should!" he interrupted her forcefully. A little calmer, he went on, "There's something seriously wrong here, but we can fix it, Jane." His voice still lowered a notch. "It's not too late to fix it. But you need to come home, just for a short while."

He didn't say please this time, didn't need to. She knew she was losing him. Maybe had _already_ lost him. She had lost her own daughter a long time ago, and she thought she had made a certain extent of peace with it. It was part of the reason why she never talked to Elya, didn't want to see her again. Because she knew that if she did, her resolve to be focused on her 'mission' would crumble like a sand castle in high tide.

Was it time to come home? Was she really prepared to take that step? And what would He say? Would He let her go? Condone her decision? He had always insisted on free will and how important that was. When had she stopped believing in free will? When had she stopped listening to her own instincts and started acting only upon His?

When she heard Adam's voice gently say, "Jane?" she realized she hadn't said anything for a while. Her voice quiet, she told him, "I need some time to think about it, okay?"

His voice was equally quiet, reserved. "Okay." He hesitated a second, then said, "I love you, Jane."

Tears sprang into her eyes, unfamiliar tears that she hadn't felt in years, had learned how to suppress so well. Numbness and detachment was something she had subscribed to, something she had gotten down to an art. She lowered the cell phone from her ear and slowly pushed the 'Disconnect' button with the phone held in her lap. "I love you too," she whispered.

* * *


	6. Free Will

**Author's Note:**  
_People have been asking in their reviews if I'm gonna continue this story. Fear not, it will be ten chapters at the very least. That's how many I have lined out at this point, but it could become more since I sometimes hit upon new ideas to add while I'm writing. I also usually add "The End" at the end when a story is finished. As long as you don't see that, I have no intention to stop the story. _:o)

_Also, I will be renaming this story eventually. It was called "Why?" at first because I thought it was only gonna be one chapter, and the title fit then. It's become something more complex now, so it will get a new title, which is "Queen of Spades", inspired by the song "Prince of Spades" by Dispatch. I will explain this in the changed version of the Author's Note in the first chapter, once I make the change (which probably won't be before the story is fully posted)._

_Thanks to Sisterdebmac, who has been helping me beta-read this story in later chapters. _

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Free Will**

'NEED CASH FOR ALCOHOL RESEARCH'

These words were depicted in ragged hand-written letters on a cardboard sign that a gray-haired and -bearded, elderly man, sitting on an upturned beer crate to the side of the shopping mall passage held up, an old hat lying top down in front of him. There was a pitiful amount of small change inside, a dozen coins at best.

Joan almost didn't notice him as she walked past until the old man raised his voice. "Spare some change for research?" he croaked.

Joan lifted her head, having just been cruelly yanked from her deep reverie.

She studied the sign for a few seconds, then looked at the man. She could spot Him and point Him out in a crowd by now. "Very funny," she said dryly.

"I aim to please," He smirked at her.

"Oh, please, I am not in the mood for your games."

"Why, Joan, what's bearing down on you these days?" He asked.

Joan now turned around to face him, giving him a condescending look. "You know exactly what's on my mind, so stop asking me things you already know."

The old man stood up, slowly, his face bearing a pained expression for a moment, like an old man's with arthritic joints. "Walk with me," He plainly said to Joan.

"Do I have a choice?" she asked tiredly, not sure she was up for another assignment, another burden on her shoulders.

"You always have a choice," He said.

"Yeah, it sounds so easy when you say it," she sighed, very much not up for this conversation. But she'd had a feeling she would see Him before long to talk about just that.

He went over to His shopping cart that was loaded with all his belongings. He indicated the hat with change on the floor, saying, "Kindly help me with that, would you?"

"Sure," Joan said sarcastically, bending down to pick up the hat all the same, handing it to Him. He took it and tilted it so that the handful of coins slid into His cupped hand with which He pocketed it before He started walking along the not too busy street.

For a moment, Joan thought about how weird it must be to see a healthy young woman taking a stroll through in the street with a homeless guy. But she had long learned to live with being in strange and awkward situations, especially if they involved a certain deity, so she quickly pushed the thought aside.

They walked in silence for a while, the shopping cart's left front wheel slightly creaking with every turn.

Joan suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She watched a passer-by hurry along with fast strides, his mind maybe set on the anniversary present he was going to get his girlfriend or today's stats he still had to prepare for the boss's meeting with the big shots.

Joan met Transient-God's eyes and boldly stated, "I think it's time for me to go home."

The sentence hung in the air for a second. She was prepared to find rejection or denial in his face, in his eyes, but they were—like so often—carefully, annoyingly neutral.

She felt the need to elaborate further, and it didn't matter whether He already knew all that or not. "There's ... things going on at home, things that Adam needs my help with. Things that no one else can take care of but me. He ... he sounded so desperate on the phone. I think he needs me. He really needs me. Elya really needs me."

Transient-God's voice was neither accusing nor challenging. It was a merely curious question. "It sounds like you've already made up your mind. Why haven't you already left?"

"You know why." Joan told him.

"You want my approval." God stated.

"And is that so wrong? I mean, after all I've been through, can you blame me?" Joan challenged Him. In a more quiet tone, she added, "I ... I just ... I kinda need to know that things are being taken care of, that things turn out okay, that ..."

"That the world will go on without you helping out?" He finished for her, not without a hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah, I guess."

"The world will always go on without you helping out."

Joan sighed. "Yeah, I ... I know that. I just meant ... the ripples. What'll happen if there aren't any good ripples anymore?"

"Don't worry, Joan." He told her, His voice so annoyingly carefree.

"Don't_ worry_?" Joan repeated incredulously. "I've been trying to tell you that I need to return to my family for such a long time, and _now, _after ten years, you're telling me not to worry? God, you are some twisted bastard."

God took it in stride, didn't even flinch at the insult. A raised eyebrow was all He gave her. Calmly He explained, "No, Joan, maybe I'm telling you not to worry now because you're right."

Joan didn't say anything for a few seconds. This was the first time He had implied that going home would actually be okay, that her leaving her current life behind would not cause any bad ripples, as she called them. But was He actually saying that? Wasn't He just trying to make her have a clear conscience? She hated His vagueness, His inscrutability.

"So what'll happen if I leave?" she asked Him. "Things just fall into place by themselves? I may not be omnipotent, but even I know that's not how it works. Why else would you have asked me to do what I did all these years? This wasn't all just some sick joke, was it?"

His face and voice was stern now. "No, this wasn't a joke, this was never a joke. You saw the ripples, you _know_ it wasn't a joke, Joan."

Of course she knew, and for a moment she felt ashamed of ever having suggested it. "So, I guess you can't tell me that things will work out if I leave, right? You can't assure me that there won't be bad ripples."

"No, Joan, I can't." His answer was simple and to the point—and she had known it before He had even said it.

"Yeah," she said, her voice laden with something heavy. "And that's what makes it so hard."

"Just remember that you always have free will. I have always trusted you to make your own decisions. That hasn't changed."

"Yeah," Joan acknowledged. And she knew she was back to square one. God, as usual, hadn't been any help in making up her mind. But maybe He had pointed out in which direction she should go from here. She'd have to do some serious thinking, she knew that much.

She fingered around in her pocket and dug out a twenty dollar bill, which she thrust into the old man's hand. "Have a decent meal on me," she told Him. Was it insulting to give God money for food?

"Thank you, Joan." There was true gratitude in His voice, so maybe it wasn't. "See you around," He told her before He turned the shopping cart in the direction of the road that crossed the street they were on, but not before giving her one of his trademark waves.

Joan closed her eyes for a few seconds, breathing out a long breath. What was she gonna do?

* * *

_The beginning of this chapter was inspired by a picture a friend of mine sent me, depicting a homeless man holding up a sign "Need Cash For Alcohol Research". If I knew who to give credit for it, I would._


	7. Unheralded Visitor

**Chapter 7 – Unheralded Visitor**

Elya frowned slightly as she opened the front door, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. Something was on the floor that didn't belong there. When she glanced down, she recognized shards of porcelain, strewn all over the floor, some small, some larger. It looked like the remnants of a plate and she suddenly grew slightly worried. Had something happened to her father? She pushed the door open and carefully went inside, trying not to step on any of the broken pieces.

Once past the mess, she reached the living room in fast paces, calling, "Dad, are you okay? What's with the—"

Her words caught in her throat when she spotted a woman sitting at their dining table. She didn't pay her close attention, maybe her dad was having a colleague over for dinner. Not that it was his habit to invite strangers to their home, but she trusted him that much that he would bring decent people.

At the same time as her father appeared in the kitchen door, the woman stood up. Slowly, she said, "Elya ..."

The sound of her voice, the way she said her name made Elya take a closer look at the woman's face. And then it hit her. "Mom?"

Joan smiled, but the smile was hesitant, unassertive. "Yes, Elya."

"Wow," Elya said. "That's ... holy crap."

Joan laughed softly and Adam looked at her with both eyebrows raised. "You pester me about your mother for weeks and now that she's here, all you can say is 'holy crap'?"

Elya dropped her gym bag on the floor, went over the table and sat down next to her mother. "I get home and you're just ... here? That's ... I don't know what to say."

"Then ... let's eat first," Adam interrupted, setting the small basket with warm toast slices down on the table among the other foodstuffs that he had already prepared for dinner. Elya snagged one from the basket and began piling ham and cheese on it, topping it with mayonnaise before she placed some salad on it and rounded up the combination with another slice of toast on top.

She took a hearty bite. Boy, was she hungry! She stole a glance at her mother as Joan prepared her own sandwich in careful deliberation. Elya had the feeling she was a little nervous. Oddly awkward silence settled over the scene that, to the casual onlooker, would seem like any normal family dinner—but which so obviously wasn't normal for either of them.

Between bites, Elya suddenly asked, "Where the hell have you been all this time?"

So much for subtlety, Joan thought. But she should have been prepared for this, she knew Elya would ask all the awkward questions. The important questions. She drew in a breath to better prepare herself as she placed her half-eaten sandwich on the plate in front of her. "I've ... I've traveled a lot, all over the world. There were so many things I had to do, had to take care of."

Elya's eyes grew wider. "Things like what?"

"Things like ..." Joan stumbled on the words. "I've been fixing things, if you will. Righting the wrongs that others did, helping to get things back in the balance when it was lost. It's ... it's very complicated, Elya."

Elya's face took on an irritated expression. "That's what Dad always said. You never tell me anything. I thought I could get some answers from you. Dad always said there's things that only you can explain. Why do you still treat me like I won't understand, like I'm a child?"

Joan tried to placate her daughter. "Yes, Elya, there's things that I can and will explain. Things that will make sense to you. I will do that when the time is right."

Elya drew a face, but accepted her mother's explanation. For now. She put the last piece of her sandwich into her mouth. There were so many more questions she had, pressing questions that had been on her mind for a long time. "And why did you never come back or visit us? Didn't you miss us?"

Adam raised his head and now looked at Joan as well. This was one question he had been asking time and again—both Joan and himself. And even though Joan had told him her reasons, he'd still like to hear her say it in person.

"Oh, Elya, I missed you so much. Both of you. But the longer I stayed, the more it became evident that there might be the possibility that I would not return, would never return, I couldn't bear the thought of seeing you and leaving again, knowing it would be forever. Knowing we would never be a family. I just couldn't. I don't know if you can understand that, but I hope you can." She fumbled with a crumb of cheese that had caught on her finger. "Then there was also His advice, His hints that ... that I should stay away."

"Who's 'he'?" Elya asked, looking from her mother to her father, both of whom seemed to be in on whatever, or whoever her mother was talking about.

"He's ... someone important," Joan said without elaborating.

There was momentary silence in the room until Elya interrupted it. "And now? Have you come back to stay?"

"I ..." Joan drew in a breath before continuing. "I really can't say."

But Elya wouldn't be satisfied with that answer. "But you said you wouldn't come back if it meant you had to leave again. Why would you come if you had to go away again?"

"You're right. But ... I don't know why I came." She fumbled with her fingers on the tabletop, studying them as she did, clearly uncomfortable about the whole situation. Was there ever anything to this whole situation to be comfortable about? "No, that's not true. I came because I felt I had to." She looked at Adam. "I think you needed me to."

Adam stared down at his plate, tracing the pattern the crumbs had left with his eyes. In a very low voice, he said, "We needed you to a long time ago."

Matching Adam's tone of voice, she said, "I know."

She didn't say she was sorry. Part of her was, but another part of her wasn't. Yet another part of her knew that her own emotional welfare hadn't been important enough to warrant doing what she thought suited her own interests best. She knew she wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she had acted that way. She also knew Adam and Elya didn't understand, wouldn't understand. But there was nothing she could about it, except maybe try to tell them, teach them what she had seen, she had accomplished. And _that_ she would do when the time was right. As to when that point in time was going to be, she_didn't_ know.

Adam got up and for a moment stood next to his chair. He didn't want to end the conversation on such a dissonant note, so he went over to stand behind Joan, placing his hands lightly on her shoulders. "I'm just glad that you're here now."

He could feel her tense beneath his touch, could feel that she was tempted to pull away. Yet she said, "Yeah, me too."

Adam looked at his daughter. "Wanna help me do the washing up?" He nodded towards the kitchen.

"Daaad," Elya said, dragging out the vowel. She hated washing up, he knew that. "Do I have to?"

Adam looked at her with a mockingly punishing look. "Yes, you have to, young lady."

She made a show of sighing deeply. "All right."

Adam smiled as he entered the kitchen, holding the door open for Elya, who carried the last of the dirty dishes on a tray. Once they were inside and he had closed the door behind him, he said to her, "Let's give your mother some space."

Elya looked up at him. "When did she get here? _How_ did she get here? Did you know she was gonna come?"

"Easy, easy," Adam chuckled. "One question at a time. When did she get here? Barely half an hour before you got home. How, I don't know, you'll have to ask her that yourself. And, no, I didn't know she was gonna come. I was as surprised as you were."

"But, I mean ... what made her come here all of a sudden? This is all just too wacko," Elya said and shook her head as if she still couldn't believe it.

Adam bent down to retrieve a dustpan and hand brush from one of the kitchen cupboards. He handed it to Elya. "Can you do me a favor and clean up the mess in the hall? I kinda ... I dropped a plate when your mom was suddenly standing in front of me." He gave her a good-natured smirk. "Plus I know how much you hate washing up."

Elya smiled. "Right, sure."

As Elya left the kitchen, Adam rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt, ready to tackle the stack of dishes that had been piling up since breakfast.

In the living room, Joan got up from the chair, studying the room that was strangely both familiar and unfamiliar to her. She noticed that Adam and Elya had made some decorative changes. The walls were painted in a warm pastel terracotta color, as opposed to the stark white she remembered from when she had still lived here. Gone were the paintings that she recalled having chosen and hung from her husband's sheer inexhaustible stash of artwork. Instead there were framed prints from artists she couldn't recall the names of, most of them in subdued but warm colors, depicting impressionist landscape and scenery.

On the mantelpiece there were a few framed photos: Elya with Adam, Elya with Carl, Elya smiling in a portrait shot—and an old photo of Elizabeth. There were no pictures of herself, which didn't really surprise her but still pained her.

Her gaze caught on a framed pencil drawing, one that did depict her and which clearly carried Adam's trademark. Her finger went up and stopped just shy of touching the glass it was framed behind. Adam's ability to capture every intricate detail, every little nuance, even without any visual aid other than his photographic memory still amazed her. His eidetic memory, which, looked at from a rational standpoint, was probably also a burden sometimes.

Joan sat down on the couch, unsure what to do. She expected Elya and Adam to have a lot to talk about in the kitchen, so she didn't want to intrude. Suddenly, a bone-deep exhaustion washed over her and she leaned her head back. The long trip, all those questions, it finally caught up with her. Closing her eyes, she thought she'd be okay if she just rested for a few minutes.

Adam dried his hands on the kitchen towel once he had pulled the plug from the kitchen sink. Elya was still drying off the last items, putting them back where they belonged. He went back into the living room to see what his wife was up to. He found her on the couch, her head tilted back, her eyes closed. She looked so exhausted, so drained. No one who was sleeping should look this exhausted.

He took the blanket from the foot of the couch and gently draped it over Joan's limp, steadily breathing body. And he could see that beneath all the exhaustion, there was still something peaceful, something innocent. With a bittersweet pang it came back to him that her life had been anything but innocent, that these past years must have been just as hard on her as they had been on him and Elya.

As he stood there and watched Joan's sleeping form on the couch, he thought back to today's sudden and completely unexpected appearance of her on his doorstep.

_Humming a tune that he had listened to in the car on his way home, Adam took the plates and cutlery from the kitchen into the living room to set the table that was in the corner of the room near the windows. Elya would be coming home in a short while and he knew she would be hungry after an hour and a half of jujitsu practice._

_The ringing of the doorbell interrupted his routine movements. The plate he had been about to set down still in his hand, he went to the door and opened it, saying out loud, "Elya, how often do I have to—"_

_The person standing in front of him wasn't Elya and the plate he had been holding slipped from his fingers. It hit the tiled floor and shattered into countless pieces. _

_"Joan?" Adam gasped. Her hair was short—too short—and she was much thinner, but she was definitely, unmistakably his wife._

_Joan didn't say anything at first. She just looked at him, and there were questions and doubts and uncertainty in her eyes, maybe even shame. Those eyes, he remembered those eyes, and stared deeply into them as if there was nothing else to look at._

_"Joan," Adam said again, as if saying her name would convince him that she was actually here, standing in front of him in the flesh. "You're here," he whispered._

_"Yes, I'm here," she finally said. Her voice was deep, troubled, full of uncertainty._

_For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. Adam looked her up and down, slowly assessing the person standing in front of him. Then his hands came up and pulled her into a careful embrace. _

_Joan felt helpless for a moment. All those doubts she'd had, all the reserve she had so determinedly built up suddenly fell away, and she returned the embrace, feeling for the first time in years and years what it was like to be protected and loved—something she hadn't thought possible after all this time._

_After a moment, they pulled apart and Adam stepped back into the corridor, heedless of the mess on the floor. "Please, come in," he invited Joan into her own house. Or what used to be her house. _Their_ house. She followed him maybe a little too hesitantly, feeling like a stranger in her own home. In ten years, a lot had changed. For both of them._

He was still studying his wife when Elya came into the living room, saying, "Dad, there—"

But Adam quickly silenced her by placing his finger to his lips, saying, "Shh."

Elya came closer and saw her mother sleeping on the couch, comprehension spreading over her face. She stepped closer yet, so she was standing next to her father. Adam placed his arm around Elya's waist and gently drew her to him. Her hands moved to his back and she gave him a loose hug. Adam bent his head to softly kiss the top of her head as Elya had turned it sideways, looking at her mother.

Still in her father's arms, she whispered, "Are we gonna be a family now?"

Whispering back, Adam replied, "I don't know, Honey. But I really wish we could be."

He took a step back and looked at his daughter. "Why don't you go up and get ready for bed?" It wasn't really a question but a subtle demand.

"There's so much I wanna ask her, I wanna talk about," Elya protested.

"Tomorrow's another day," Adam told her. "She's not gonna leave so soon."

"And how do you know? She could be gone in the morning for all we know," Elya pressed on, her voice slightly worried.

"I promise you she won't be gone tomorrow morning," Adam told her. A promise he couldn't be sure about keeping, but something told him that Joan wouldn't do that, not after she had so much as admitted that she had finally listened to his pleas to come home.

That seemed to be good enough for Elya because she said, "Okay," before she left the living room. Adam could hear her walking up the stairs and sat down in the armchair across from Joan. He was sure he could sit here and watch her for hours on end, taking in every little detail of her face, all the wrinkles and lines he wasn't used to, the darker rings under her eyes, the scar on her right temple that hadn't been there before.

_"Where's Elya?" Joan asked, making the question sound innocent enough, but Adam could see the apprehension in her face. He could only imagine that Joan didn't know what to expect after all these years of absence, years of non-communication between her and her daughter. Adam didn't think she had anything to be afraid of, but then Joan didn't know that, did she?_

_"She has jujitsu practice, she should be home before long," Adam told her, absently brushing at a breadcrumb on the tablemat in front of him before he looked at Joan, who was sitting next to him at the round dining table._

_Joan raised her eyebrows. "She does jujitsu?" she asked surprised._

_Adam had to smile. "Yeah, she's quite something. You should see her, she's almost up to the purple belt," he said, pride clearly evident in his voice._

_Joan looked down, studying the tablemat in front of her. "I missed so much of her life. She's like a stranger to me now," Joan said regretfully, her voice low._

_Adam's voice was just as low but more sad than accusing as he replied, "You would never let me talk about her. I could have told you so much."_

_"I know, Adam, but don't you see?" Joan said almost forcefully now. "I couldn't. I couldn't hear you talk about her, with me not knowing whether I'd ever see her again." She looked down yet again, her voice becoming quiet. "It would have hurt too much."_

_"So what made you change your mind?" Adam asked brazenly. "What made you come back?"_

_Joan looked at him briefly, then stared out the window. "It was ... Look, can we not talk about this now?" Joan requested._

_Adam sighed, but nodded slowly. "Okay. Sure." He got up from the table. "Look, I have to finish making dinner. Are you hungry?" He tried to break the sudden tension._

_"I ... yeah, I guess." Joan said._

He didn't know how much time had passed when he suddenly jerked awake. Rubbing his aching neck from the awkward position he had nodded off in, he slowly got up. He softly sat down next to Joan, who hadn't awoken yet. He lightly touched her shoulder, gently saying her name. "Joan?"

He had to repeat it a second time before she groggily opened her eyes, seemingly disoriented at first. "Adam," she finally said. "Oh my God, did I fall asleep? I was just gonna rest for a minute," she said, slightly panicky.

"Relax," he reassured her. "It's not like you have anywhere to be, right?"

"No, not tonight," she said.

"You should go to bed." This was something he hadn't considered yet. Were they going to sleep in the same bed tonight? Was it presumptuous of him to think she might not want to? Uncertainly, he lifted his arms. "Look, I can sleep here if you ..." He trailed off.

She blinked once, deciphering what he might be meaning. "No," she then said. "No, I want to be with you tonight."

"Yeah," he replied softly. "Yeah, me too."

Together they walked up the stairs. Adam lingered in front of Elya's bedroom, opening her door a notch. The ray of light from the lamp in the corridor partly illuminated her bed and Adam was relieved to see that their daughter was sleeping soundly, her blankets all bundled around her.

Joan sidled up to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. The first sign of affection that he had seen or felt her display tonight. "She's so beautiful and sweet," Joan said.

"Yes. She's perfect." Adam's voice was just above a whisper. "She's a lot like you," he added.

Joan breathed out through her nose. "If I was perfect, I wouldn't have left you behind, either of you."

"Maybe not, but ..." he sighed. "Like you said, it's complicated."

Joan nodded against his upper arm and Adam closed the door as silently as possible.

* * *

Later, lying in their bed, Adam turned around so he could face his wife. His hand came up and he gently, affectionately traced the hairline on Joan's temple, something he had imagined doing so often while he was lying there all on his own. "I missed you. I missed you so much," he told her.

"I missed you too," was her reply. Even in the dark he could see that her eyes were brimming with tears. He wiped one from her cheek that was spilling down.

"How long can you stay?" he suddenly asked. There was no accusation in his voice, no plea, no demand. Just the plain curiosity and the need for assessing how much time they had together, how short-lived their reunion was going to be.

"I ..." she stammered. "I don't know, I really don't know. I don't know if He has anything planned for me here. Adam, I can't ... I don't ..." She choked on a sob and Adam's finger went to her lip, shushing her softly.

"Shh, it's okay. It's not important now," he told her. She lay still for a moment and then softly kissed his finger that still lingered on her lips. He drew closer to her and her hand slid round his waist. He started tracing her jaw with soft kisses until first their lips and then their tongues met. And for the first time today, Joan truly felt at home, truly felt safe.

And the intimacy that followed went far beyond what either of them expected and started healing wounds that were gaping wide open.

* * *


	8. Unexpected Revelations

**Author's Note:  
**_Okay, okay. Upon LostSchizophrenic's lovely nudge (or should I say begging?), here's the next chapter for you. The continuation of this story is currently lagging a little behind, but I have my mind set on finishing it, don't worry. I got side-tracked a little with another neat, little project—and I dare say that it's all Sisterdebmac's fault. I want to thank her, though, for her helpful comments and spotting those last few typos and mistakes. You rock, girl!_

* * *

**Chapter 8 – Unexpected Revelations**

Unfamiliarity. That was the first thing on Joan's mind when she woke up. Unfamiliar surroundings, unfamiliar sounds, an unfamiliar bed. Not that that was something new to her. The past years she had rarely stayed in one place for more than a few months.

The first few seconds between wakefulness and sleep were a jumble of impressions she couldn't quite place, but then she blinked once and in the hazy gray morning light she recognized her old bedroom. A sideways glance, and she was looking at her husband's sleeping figure, half hidden beneath the covers.

And, boy, he looked beautiful. Older, but still so beautiful. His dark brown hair, now shorter than when she had last seen him, was slightly tousled and it was as if he was just about to break into a sweet smile as he lay on his pillow with his eyes closed.

Joan shifted her position slightly, propping her head up on one elbow, studying Adam's face. So often when they were talking on the phone, she had tried to envision him, had tried to remember what he looked like—what he might look like after those years of separation. Sometimes she had been able to picture him perfectly, sometimes she would have almost cried with frustration because she couldn't. And yet, here he was, and he was more handsome than he had been in her imagination, even with those lines in his face that she didn't recall ever having seen.

Her gaze went around the room. From what she could make out in the dim light, it had been reduced to a bedroom in the most Spartan of meanings. Gone was the decoration, the paintings, the colors, the liveliness. This had become a place one would not want to spend any more time in than necessary; no effort had been made to make you feel at home.

And how could she blame him? He had been living here all this time, not knowing if she would ever come back. And yet, he had stayed. He had waited, waited for what seemed to be impossible, the unthinkable. How easily could he have moved on after she had told him off time and again, told him how she didn't know if she would ever come back. It was so simple. She had turned her back on him. Either he really loved her that much or he was just not courageous enough to take the next step with someone else. And she seriously doubted there wouldn't have been plenty opportunity.

And she was glad he hadn't—more than she could ever say. How close had she been to giving it all up, to leave her old life completely behind? It would certainly have made a lot of things easier all these years.

Adam stirred next to her and her gaze went back to his face, meeting his eyes that had now opened. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hey," Joan whispered back.

And there was the disarming smile on his lips, the one he had been about to break into all this time. "You're really here. It wasn't just a dream," he said, lightly touching her forearm. She could feel the goose bumps running all the way down her spine.

Joan didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. Seeing him, hearing him being the sweetest guy on the planet, how could she ever have even considered being with someone else?

"Jane, what's wrong?" he softly inquired. He knew her too well. And how was that even possible after all this time?

She sank back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling. "What's wrong?" she repeated. "Is there anything not wrong? Ten years ago, I left you with a kid to take care of and no way to support you. I left and ... God, ten years and I never even came to visit. Ten years, Adam. And I can't figure out why you would still welcome me back without question, without a second thought. I mean, look at what I've done to your life."

He turned around to lie on his side, to look at her, but Joan didn't meet his gaze. "You wanna know why?" he said. "I love you, that's why."

Silence ensued and hung in the air for a few heavy seconds before Adam, his voice now low and crestfallen, asked her, "Don't you? Don't you still love me?"

"Adam." Joan choked on his name. The lump working its way up her throat was threatening to suffocate her. "Yes. Yes, I love you, but ... for a while I wasn't sure if I did. I mean, So many things were happening and you were so far away and ... oh God."

Adam shifted his body away from her, now also lying on his back. She had just managed to estrange him with only a few words. Had just destroyed the careful faith and trust that had slowly seeped from their fingers as the years went by.

Joan turned back around to face him, her voice now more urgent. "Adam, you have to understand. I can't just go back to the way it was before. It'll never be like that again."

He now also turned onto his side in one swift motion and there was determination and a hint of anger in his face as he met her gaze. "Was there anyone else? Did you ... did you ever sleep with anyone else?"

The way her eyebrows scrunched together, the way she didn't immediately deny it spoke volumes and she could see his face fall, could see him clenching his teeth. "You did, didn't you?" he said, not hiding the bitterness and disappointment in his voice.

Very quietly, Joan admitted, "Yes. Once." There was a pregnant pause before she went on. "It was ... It was years ago. I was in Europe and one night it ... it just happened. I mean, it was one of those things where your brain just switches off. There he was, offering everything I was looking for, everything I had missed for so long. I had almost forgotten what sex was like, what making love felt like. I just ... I wanted it so badly then." Joan stopped and it took her a second to dare look at her husband, afraid to see the reaction on his face, in his eyes.

She could hear him breathing out a long breath, could see him fighting for a response, his eyes dark with something that made her want to turn her gaze away and hide in the nearest mouse hole.

In a voice laden with disappointment and hurt, he asked her, "If it was just about the sex, then why didn't you just come home? I ... I was here all the time, I could have given you all you wanted. You knew that."

Now it was Joan's turn to let out an exasperated sigh. "Adam, you know it wasn't quite that easy. You know that if I had come home, everything would have changed."

"And would that have been so bad?" he asked, his voice raised now.

"Yes," was Joan's bold reply, "at the time it would." Her own voice was now raised and determined. Why wouldn't Adam understand, understand the choices she had had to make, the hard choices that were still tearing her apart now?

"Did you love him?" Adam's voice was hoarse, suddenly devoid of emotion.

"What?" Joan said more than asked. "No," she whispered urgently. How could he even think she'd love someone else? Maybe it was just another sign of how much the distance between the two of them had taken away, had destroyed. "No, Adam, I didn't love him."

"Then why?"

Why what? Why did she sleep with him? Hadn't she already explained that? And shouldn't he be the one to understand the need for physical intimacy without love? Nearly twenty years had passed, but she could still feel the bitter aftertaste of that incident in high school, of that girl—what was her name?

"You should know why." Her voice was now harsh, accusingly defiant. "You should know exactly why. Wasn't that what it was like with Bonnie? Mindless sex without any love?"

She knew she had gone too far as soon as the words were out of her mouth. But she just hadn't been able to stop them.

Adam slowly sat up and got out of bed without saying a word. She didn't know if he was just angry or hurt or disappointed. Or all of it. Maybe he didn't want her to see his tears, maybe he just didn't want to be close to her or maybe he wanted to avoid a heated argument.

The silence he left in his wake as he left the room seemed to choke her. Angrily, she threw the duvet off her body and went after him. He was almost at the bottom of the stairs when her words stopped him. "Adam. Listen."

He stood on the stairs but didn't turn around. What could she say that would make him understand? "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

When Adam slowly turned around, even from the distance, she could see the hurt clearly written all over his face. The anger wasn't long to follow. "Are you? Are you sorry?" he challenged her. "And if you are, what do you want from me? Instant forgiveness?" He snorted out an angry laugh before he raised his voice sarcastically. "Because, funny, you didn't forgive me that easily back in high school. You remember that, don't you? You remember what it felt like."

Hell yes, she remembered what it felt like. "That was different," she just stated, loud and clear.

"That was _different?_" Adam repeated. "How was that different? I slept with another girl while we were still together, how is that different!" He was just shy of shouting at Joan now.

The more Joan said, the more damage it would do, Joan was painfully aware of that. But there was no stopping at this point.

"We saw each other every day then, we were going out, we were a couple!" Joan said forcefully.

Adam raised his hands angrily. "What, and we weren't when you were screwing that guy? We're fucking married, Joan, in case you don't remember!" he yelled at her up the stairs. "That didn't change just because you ran off on... on your stupid little mission from God." In a calmer voice, he added, "That never changed."

"And what was I supposed to do, huh?" Joan now yelled back at him. "What—"

"Mom? Dad?" Elya's questioning voice interrupted Joan's angry string of words. Elya's eyes were sleepy as she stood in the doorway of her room, looking from her mother to her father. "What's going on?"

Joan spun around to meet her daughters gaze, the angry glint in her own eyes not yet gone. "Nothing," Joan told her, trying to sound neutral and calm.

But Elya wasn't the little girl anymore who could be fooled with empty words such as these. "You're yelling at each other in the corridor, that's some pretty heavy 'nothing'."

Joan stared at her for a second, then told her, "All right, we were having an argument." How could she sound so matter-of-fact when a minute ago she had been ready to rip Adam's head off?

"No kidding," Elya sighed sarcastically. "Are you done fighting now?"

"I—" Joan started to say, but Adam cut her off.

"Yes, we are," he simply said and walked the last two steps down the stairs and out of sight.

Joan sighed a heavy sigh. "Look, I'm sorry," she told Elya.

But Elya's reply was sharp and to the point. "Save it for Dad, I think he's the one you owe an apology to." With that she went down the stairs as well, running her hands through her hair to tie it into a loose ponytail at the back of her neck.

Joan suddenly felt very alone, alone in her own home. She slowly sat down on the top of the stairs. How much of a fool was she to ever expect Elya to understand her, to be on her side? How could she ever expect to be part of this family again and make it feel like she belonged?

Downstairs, Elya crossed the living room and went into the kitchen. She found her father pouring spoon after spoon of coffee grounds into the coffee maker in rapid succession. She watched him for a few moments, then asked, "Dad, what are you doing?"

The spoon cluttered to the counter with a metallic clang. Adam stepped aside and, placing his hands on the edge of the counter, leaned forward on his arms. He took in a deep breath through his nose without saying anything. Elya wordlessly went to the coffee maker and put a few spoonfuls of coffee grounds from the coffee filter back into the can Adam had been scooping it out of.

"Yeah, what am I doing?" he repeated her question, his voice weary and tired. Elya knew he wasn't talking about the coffee maker.

"Wanna talk about it?" she offered.

Adam turned to look at his daughter, a surprised expression on his face. Since when had she grown up to become this smart a person? His features softened somewhat. "I ..." he began. "Look, it's complicated."

Now it was Elya's turn to sound exasperated. "You always say that, like it's the ultimate excuse for anything. Then explain it to me," she demanded.

"This is more complicated than you'll be able to understand," he said quietly.

"Okay, fine," she said in a resigned voice. She put the coffee pot onto the hot plate, put the power switch to ON and turned to leave the kitchen. "Be that way. Hope you like the coffee," was her last sarcastic remark.

"Elya," Adam said after her, but she was out the door before he could say anything else.

"Dammit!" He grabbed the can of coffee grounds and hurled it across the kitchen. The lid came off easily as it bounced against the shelf and brown coffee grounds dusted the floor underneath and the smell of ground coffee beans filled the air.

Adam stepped closer to look at the mess on the floor. "Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"Dad, are you okay?" he heard a voice behind him. Elya had come back into the kitchen upon hearing the commotion. When she set eyes on the brown powdery substance on the floor, the now half-empty can lying next to it, she dryly commented, "Wow. I think you're having some anger management issues."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Adam muttered. "I'll get the vacuum cleaner." But before he left the kitchen, he turned around again, addressing his daughter. "Elya, I'm sorry. You know, about before. I just ... I wish this could be easier. For all of us."

"That's okay, Dad," Elya said in a reconciled tone. "I guess we all have a bad day every once in a while. You'll sort it out. Won't you?" The last question wasn't just rhetorical.

Adam didn't know if Elya was aware what this fight had been about, but he doubted she was. "I'm not so sure," he said sadly.

He was at a loss about what to do. He sure was still mad at Joan. How could she bring Bonnie up again? Hadn't they been through this and over it years ago? Hadn't they agreed to put this topic under lock and key after they had finally dared discuss it and everything that surrounded it, back then in their final year in high school?

And now she had openly admitted that she had slept with someone else, that she had been an unfaithful wife. And how could she ever expect him to understand? Bonnie had torn apart their relationship back then, in the worst possible way. And Joan wanted him to just nod and be done with it, with the fact that she had shared a physical intimacy with someone other than her husband.

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" Elya's voice pulled him from his reverie.

He sighed before answering. "Look, I just ... I don't know. I just need some time to think, all right?"

Elya didn't know how to respond to that. She had caught a glimpse of what her parents had been fighting about, but she sure didn't know the whole story. "Okay," she finally said. She was aware that this wasn't something _she_ could fix. "Look, I'll get the vacuum cleaner," she offered. Getting the kitchen back in order was at least something she could help with.

"No, I'll take care of it," Adam said. "I should be cleaning this up." And he didn't only mean the coffee grounds on the floor, but he knew that it was only this part of the mess that he could bring himself to clean up right now.

Upstairs, Joan could hear faint clanging noises from the kitchen, but didn't pay much attention to them. How the hell had things gone awry in just the blink of an eye? She didn't know how long she had been sitting there at the top of the stairs, but she finally gathered the resolve to get up. She walked back into the bedroom and started making the bed, folding clothes she had carelessly left lying around. Her movements were more automatic than anything else.

What had she been thinking? Should she have held her tongue and not told Adam about Marco? It really hadn't been anything more than sex, it had been a one-time thing. She had felt ashamed and unclean afterwards. Guilty. And rightly so, because she was. She was guilty of being an unfaithful wife, there was no point denying it. What on earth could have possessed her to think Adam would be okay with it?

She suddenly heard a noise from behind her and from the corner of her eye saw her husband enter the bedroom, going straight for the wardrobe and gathering clothes from it. He didn't look at her, didn't address her. It was as if she didn't exist, and it shot a stabbing pain through her stomach. This was the man she loved, the man she had a child with, how could she ever have disregarded that?

She turned around and very quietly said his name. "Adam?"

He didn't react other than slamming the wardrobe door shut, leaving the room wordlessly. A minute later she could hear the shower being turned on next door and when he was finished in the bathroom, he went straight past the bedroom and down the stairs.

Joan hesitantly followed him to the front door. She just couldn't stand him being mad at her, not after all these years she had cried herself to sleep because he wasn't there. She wanted him to gather her up in his arms more than anything, telling her it was going to be all right.

When he opened the front door without another word, she tried addressing him again, this time with a certain urgency to her voice. "Adam. I'm sorry. Please, can we just talk about this?"

He gave her an icy glare, one that made her freeze in her tracks. "Not now, Joan," he told her coldly before he walked out and closed the door behind him.

Joan suddenly felt the need to hold onto something for support, because him using her real name showed her just how much she had hurt him, how disappointed he was in her. Red-hot tears shot into her eyes and she quickly tried to blink them back—without much success.

She heard soft footsteps approaching and saw Elya standing there, looking unsure. Joan didn't know how much of this she had witnessed. "Mom?" she carefully enquired. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Joan said just above a whisper and pushed past Elya to walk up the stairs in fast steps.

Elya was left standing in the hallway, at a loss what to do about this situation. With only her and Dad in the house, things had been pretty straightforward. They didn't fight often, and if they did, it was always about puny stuff like at what time she should be home at night. She had often dreamed about how it would be have both her father and her mother living with her, how it would be like to be a family again. She hadn't imagined it would end up with her mom and dad fighting and being mad at each other.

She looked at her watch and muttered, "Dammit." She'd have to get ready now if she didn't want to be late for school. She rushed up the stairs and to her room.

Twenty minutes later, she was showered, dressed and all set to go. She grabbed her backpack and carefully approached her parents' bedroom. Lingering in the doorway, she studied her mother sitting on the bed, her head bowed and her face buried in her hands.

Carefully, Elya addressed her mother. "Uh ... Mom?"

Joan sniffled once and looked up at her through teary eyes.

"I gotta go to school now," Elya said, but didn't make any move to go.

Joan wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand to get rid of the tears on her cheeks. She felt slightly ashamed for crying here, in front of her daughter. "Yeah, I ..." she started. "Your father took the car."

"Don't worry, I'll take the bus," Elya just said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it was.

Elya made a movement and Joan thought she was gonna leave, but Elya turned back and looked at her mother with a worriedly probing gaze. "Will you be all right?"

Joan let out a noise that Elya wasn't sure was a sob or a snorted laugh. "Do I look all right to you?"

Elya put down her backpack and leaned her back against the doorframe, her hands behind her back. "What the hell happened?"

"I guess we had a fight," Joan said hollowly.

Elya raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, I kinda got that from all the yelling and the throwing things through the kitchen."

Joan looked up at her with a confused gaze. Of course she hadn't witnessed Adam's tantrum. Elya didn't elaborate, though. She silently took in her mother's sad look and slightly puffy eyes—and she knew she had to say something that would make her feel better, that would give her hope.

"Whatever it is you fought about, dad will calm down eventually. He's a brooder. He's gonna get over it, just give him some time," Elya told her mother.

Joan let out a short, ironic laugh. Elya knew her father well.

Trying to make her voice not sound so teary, she said, "Yeah, like he did when I smashed his sculpture. It was weeks before he'd even talk to me again."

Elya's eyes went wide. "You smashed his sculpture?"

"His_best_ sculpture," Joan emphasized.

"Why?"

Now Joan had to smile a bittersweet smile. "It was in high school, shortly after my family moved to Arcadia. We hadn't known each other long. But I already loved him. I didn't really understand that I did... But I did. He wanted to quit school to make a living from his art. I knew it'd be the wrong decision, so I made sure he couldn't sell his sculpture."

Elya was astonished. "So you smashed his sculpture? Wow. Isn't that a bit drastic?"

Joan nodded slowly. "Yes, it sure was. I don't know what possessed me then. I mean, I realized it was wrong the moment I saw the pieces of metal and glass on the floor. God, I still remember the way he looked at me when he realized what I had done. I wanted to drop dead in shame right that second."

"But he forgave you eventually, right?" Elya asked.

"Yes, he forgave me. But it was a long, hard road to get there. It made me realize how much he actually meant to me."

There was silence for a few seconds before Elya picked her backpack back up. Her voice was quiet, her words carefully chosen. "You know, it's, like, the best thing that's happened in a long time that you came back, but I don't want you and Dad to fight."

Joan met her daughter's eyes and tried hard not to recognize too much of Adam in them. "Yeah," she whispered. "Me neither."

She took in her teenage daughter's looks, the way she had grown, was starting to look almost like a young woman. And once again, it hit her how she had missed so much of her life. "Elya, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I left. But I had to. I'll ... I'll explain it to you. But it's just ..." Joan didn't know how to find the right words.

"It's okay, Mom," Elya told her in a soothing tone.

"No, it's not," Joan replied. "There's things I need to tell you."

Elya looked at her watch again. "Yeah, but I ... I gotta go, I'm gonna miss the bus. It's first period English and we have a quiz next week, and ..."

Joan nodded and said, "Okay, sure, you're right. We'll talk later." She got up from the bed and accompanied her daughter downstairs, asking, "Are you okay with going to the bus stop on your own?"

Elya gave her a 'you're kidding' look. "Mom, I'm fourteen."

Joan lifted her arms defensively, chuckling slightly. "Okay, okay. Sorry I asked."

"It's all right, Mom," Elya smiled at her. She might as well have said, "How are you supposed to know, you didn't see me grow up."

And the feeling of guilt and remorse for those choices Joan had made were back with a vengeance. She opened the door for Elya as Elya put on her jacket and slung her backpack over her shoulder. "See ya tonight," Joan saw her off.

"Yeah, tonight," Elya repeated before she walked away.

* * *


	9. Familiar Places

**Author's Note:**  
_You guys really know how to push my buttons. Here you go, super-obsessed—voilà, the next chapter. Thank you so much, all you unwavering fans out there, for reading and leaving those wonderful reviews. They are a part of what keep me going with these little stories of mine._

_Rest assured, even though the update frequency has slowed down a lot on this story, I am going to finish it. I've said that before, and I will. It's just that my job is sometimes putting a strain on my (creative) energies, plus it's keeping me super-busy in May with a lot of business trips that keep me away from the computer and the time and means to continue this story. I wish I had more free time to devote to fan fiction right now. And I really hope things will slow down somewhat in June. Bear with me. But keep prodding for updates, that usually helps._

_Thanks go out again to Sisterdebmac for beta-reading and helpful comments. I don't need to say how much I'm looking forward to meeting you in person, do I? And GermanJoan: Congratulations on finishing the letter! Good work! Now if you could only continue those stories of yours... (nag nag nag) And on the off-chance of Tote (or namewithheld) reading this: Where are you, gal? The Dorquettes are missing you like crazy! I need another one of your stories. SOON!_

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Familiar Places**

Joan heard the key turning in the front door. She knew it could only be Adam since Elya had called earlier, saying she would stay with a friend after school. Hesitantly, Joan crossed the living room to stand in the doorway that led into the hall. She tried to assess her husband's mood, to see if she had a shot at apologizing for this morning.

He gave her a quick and sad but condescending look after he had taken off his shoes and hung his jacket on the coat rack. He wordlessly walked past her and went straight upstairs.

Joan wanted to cry with frustration, angry tears threatened to form in her eyes. What could she do to make it up to Adam? She couldn't stand him being mad at her, couldn't stand lying in bed with him when he was quietly seething and brooding not two feet away.

She went back into the kitchen to busy herself with finishing making dinner. Adam would probably be hungry, maybe she could bait him into talking by having dinner with her.

She opened the oven door to take a look at the lasagna that she had put in there half an hour ago. The cheese was getting brown and the sauce was making bubbles, just the way it should be. This was her dad's infamous recipe, something she hadn't made for such a long time. But she hadn't forgotten it. The smell that wafted up to her nose made her mouth water and she took the casserole out of the oven with padded kitchen gloves to put it on the counter.

Taking two plates out of the cupboard, she placed them next to the casserole and went upstairs. She found Adam in the study, typing something on the computer, his face reflecting the white-ish glow of the computer screen.

She stood in the door and addressed him. "Dinner's ready," she said plainly, hoping it would prompt him to look at her and join her downstairs.

She could see his jaw clench before he coldly said, "I already ate," without looking at her.

"I made lasagna," Joan said very quietly.

There was a pregnant pause before Adam repeated, "I said I already ate."

"Adam, please," she pleaded, but he just angrily kept typing away, staring at the computer screen.

Joan lingered in the door another two seconds and then went back downstairs. This was worse than she had expected, had hoped for. She scooped a slice of lasagna onto one plate and put the other one back in the cupboard, sitting down at the dinner table on her own, listlessly eating the Italian dish. It didn't taste quite so good anymore.

About halfway through, she lost her appetite, couldn't stop thinking about the wounded and angry expression on Adam's face. She had to do something about this. She got up with resolve, threw the half-eaten slice of lasagna into the trash and went upstairs again. She knew what she was gonna do, now she only needed to make Adam come with her.

This time she didn't stop in the doorway, she entered the study and stood next to the desk chair. "Adam," she said with urgency to her voice.

He still didn't look at her. "Adam," she addressed him again.

"What? What do you want?" he angrily spat at her.

Joan dropped to her knees for lack of another chair she could sit down upon to level with him. She swiveled the desk chair around so that Adam would be facing her.

His eyes finally locked with hers, but his gaze was cold, determined. "I need you to come with me," she boldly said.

"To where?" he asked, his voice still anything but friendly or cooperative.

"You'll see."

Adam was about to swivel the chair back to the screen, but Joan stopped it with her hands that were gripping the armrests. "Please," she whispered desperately, trying to convey her despair with her gaze. She was losing him, he wasn't backing down.

Not knowing what else to do, she gripped his hands. She could feel he wanted to pull them away, but she held on tightly. "Adam, please. I need you."

His shoulders slumped and Adam pulled his hands out from under Joan's as she released her tight hold on them. "Oh, you need me, do you?" he told her cynically. "Where were you when _I_ needed _you_? Forgive me when I won't jump to your tune just because you say you need me to."

Joan's eyes filled with tears, she couldn't hold them back much longer. She sank back to sit on her heels, still in a kneeling position. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Adam, I ... I want to make things right. We've been apart so long, and now that we're back together, we're not. We're further apart than we were before. And I can't stand that."

Her breath hitched with a suppressed sob. The words tumbled from her lips without rhyme or reason. "Yes, I slept with someone else, someone I didn't love. But I wanted it to be you, I never wanted anyone else. That's the truth. But I couldn't have you. I didn't mean to sleep with that guy. It was a mistake. I felt ashamed afterwards, dirty. Like I had just betrayed you. I mean, that's exactly what I did, right?

"I tried so hard to convince myself that it would be okay because you wouldn't know, wouldn't know what I did because you were thousands of miles away. And if I could just forget about it, pretend it never happened, it would be okay. But it did happen. It's not like I went out there with the desire to just fuck someone because I needed to get laid," Joan couldn't help but use such strong language, she wanted to get her point across. "It was one of those things that you don't even think about until afterwards, when you realize that you just made this humongous mistake."

She could now feel Adam's eyes on her, but she couldn't bear to look into them, for fear she would find them filled with anything other than understanding, forgiveness. Looking at her lap, she went on, "God, Adam, how did it go that far? I just missed you so much, loved you so much. But it was like it would never happen, like I would never be back with you. So what possible harm could it have done that I made this one transgression? Except it wasn't like that, it wasn't like that at all. It wasn't just one transgression. It was never _just_ anything. And I only realized that much too late."

Joan angrily wiped at her tears, still not meeting Adam's eyes. She got up, another sob constricting her throat as she did. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, and after a moment, she added, "I love you."

She left the room, more tears streaming down her cheeks. She stumbled out of the study and into the bedroom where she sank down with her back to the side of the bed, sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up. She couldn't help but let the tears flow freely now, sobs shaking her body.

She didn't know how long she sat there. She had stopped crying a while ago when she sensed a shadow falling over her. She slowly looked up and saw Adam standing in the doorway, blocking out the light from the corridor. His eyes were as soft as his voice when he asked hesitantly. "So, where did you want to go?"

She felt strangely numb, her eyelids scratching her corneas as she blinked. Did that mean ...? "A special place, _our_ special place." she said sadly. Did it matter anymore?

Adam looked confused, not sure what she meant. "Do you still want to go?" he carefully asked.

Did she? Joan didn't know. But if this was their shot at making things right, wasn't it her duty to take it? Wouldn't she have to?

"Yes," she told him.

She got up and went downstairs, Adam following her.

The drive was quiet, neither of them dared start a conversation. The silence grew heavy, the noise of the motor became almost too loud to bear. Joan could feel every bump in the dirt road they were now on like a punch to the knot in her stomach that had never quite dissipated.

She stole a glance at Adam, who was looking out the passenger side window. She was sure he had recognized where they were going a while ago, now that they were almost there. Joan pulled into the parking lot where only a few other cars were parked.

The sun was low in the sky by now, it would be setting before long, but its rays were warming her face as she got out of the car at the same time Adam did.

He quickly took in the landscape, then said to her, "Mercer Creek."

"Yeah," Joan said, and it sounded like a sigh. "We used to come here all the time, do you remember?"

He slowly nodded. "Yeah, we had some of our most important conversations here." Lowering his voice a notch, he added, "This was where we decided to try again after ... you know ... Bonnie."

_Yes_, Joan thought, _He knows exactly why I wanted to go here._

"Déjà vu?" Joan carefully asked and looked at Adam.

His gaze was on the horizon, squinting his eyes against the sun in the distance. He drew in a deep breath and held it before he let it out again. "Jane, I ... I don't know."

He had called her Jane. That was a start, she thought. She lightly touched his arm. "Let's walk."

Adam didn't say anything but started walking alongside Joan down the path that followed the creek. The only sound that accompanied their footsteps for the first few minutes was the low babble of the water to their left. They were both trying to come up with ways to get out of this mess they had landed themselves in.

"Jane," Adam finally said. She stopped walking and Adam did too. Their gazes met and he went on, "I love you too, I always have. But you're not exactly making it easy." He lifted his hands to underline his words. "I mean, we've been through so much, and now that I have you back, however long that may last, it just ... it felt so perfect at first. I had hoped it would happen for the longest time, and then ... then I find out you were sleeping with someone else while I was waiting for you."

He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets, looking down at the grassy path they were walking on. "It was like it popped this whole pink bubble, you know?"

"Yeah." Joan licked her bottom lip which had gone all rough and dry from the gentle but steady breeze.

Adam lifted his head and looked at Joan. "I just don't know what to do now. I mean, back when I slept with ... with Bonnie," it was still hard for him to say her name, even now, "all I ever wanted was for you to forgive me. It was like nothing else mattered, like I would be okay if you just didn't hate me anymore. But it's different now, and I know now that it's not quite that easy."

Joan could feel tears threatening to form again, so she quickly looked away, studying a crow that had landed in the field just a few yards away and was pecking at the ground to find food or supplies for a nest.

She heard Adam's voice going on, ever so soft and gentle, just like the breeze that was tugging at their hair. "I don't hate you—not like you hated me. But you telling me, me now knowing, that changes a few things. I'm not quite sure what exactly, but ... but I don't know if I can just go back and pretend it didn't happen."

Joan spun around and faced Adam. "And I didn't ask that of you. I never asked that of you."

"I know," he replied. "But you did ask for my forgiveness, right?"

Did she? Of course she did, who was she kidding. "Yeah, I guess I did," she quietly admitted.

"Oh Jane," he whispered as his intense and attentive gaze on her never wavered. He took a step closer and enveloped her in a gentle embrace. "What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know," she whispered into his shoulder. "Try the best we can?" she suggested hesitantly.

He nodded and pushed her away to plant a soft kiss on her forehead, which Joan silently accepted, relished. She leaned in again and they stood with their foreheads against each other for a moment before they separated again.

They continued walking next to each other in silence for a while. Joan felt strangely elated and hopeful. She hadn't lost Adam after all, not completely. She had a chance to win him back, to make them one again.

In the distance, the sun was sinking lower in the sky, its color changing from yellow to orange before it disappeared behind the horizon as Joan and Adam came to their old place, the opening where the toppled over old tree trunk still lay, now overgrown with green and yellow lichen. "God, is this thing still here?" Joan remarked more than asked.

"Come on," Adam said and, taking Joan's hand, walked to the log, sitting down in the grass, leaning his back against it. As he did, he gently guided her to sit in front of him between his spread legs. Joan did without hesitation and lightly leaned her back against Adam's torso.

When he shifted his position slightly, he could feel the goose bumps on Joan's upper arms. Now that the sun was gone, the temperature had dropped a few degrees. "Come here," he said as his arms came around her and he drew her closer to share some of his body warmth with her.

She leaned her head back into the crook of his neck and they sat like that for a while until the melody of a ringing cell phone ripped them from their reverie. Adam quickly fumbled around in his jeans pocket before he pulled out his cell and answered it. "Elya?"

Joan's hand went to her mouth. She had completely forgotten about the fact that Elya would come home eventually and find the house empty without even a note or any other indication of where her parents were.

"Hey, hey, hey," she heard Adam say. "Calm down. Everything's fine. Your mother and I ... took a little hike."

There was a pause, but Joan couldn't hear Elya's response. "Don't worry, we'll be home in a while," Adam told their daughter before he hung up. "We just completely forgot our daughter," he said to Joan with a guilty sigh. "How could we forget our daughter?"

"I guess we were just a little too wrapped up in our own problems," Joan replied.

"That's no excuse," Adam said earnestly.

"No, it isn't, and we need to stop making them." She touched Adam's arm and stroked it gently. "Can we try to do that? To not make any more excuses?"

"No more excuses," he repeated in agreement.

Joan got up and held out a hand to her husband to pull him up from his sitting position. "Come on, it's time that we headed back."

* * *


	10. Another Day In Paradise

**Author's Note:**  
_I know, I know. It's been ages since I've updated this one. And I'm sorry about that, but I have—once again—been side-tracked with another story. A huge one. And I mean HUGE one. It's about to be posted (look for something called "Butterflies"), at least the beginnings of it, but I swear, I will finish this story as well. It's just that I have a couple of non-Adam-heavy scenes to write and those always seem like only half the fun. LOL_

_Just bear with me, it might be a couple of weeks. Months even. I have this thing pretty much planned through right to the end, but most of it is still in my head. And I do have a life outside of fan fiction and the internet, believe it or not. Reviews, as usual, very welcome. Thanks guys for your reviews so far. Each and every one of them makes my day. Now go read._

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Another Day In Paradise**

The scent of blooming flowers was in the air, wafting in from the open window and Joan happily hummed along to a tune that was playing on the radio as she set the breakfast table. A slightly bleary-eyed Adam appeared and walked up to her from behind, kissing her softly on the neck, grumpily muttering, "You're too happy for the fact that it's only 6:30 in the morning."

Joan had to smile at that. Something else that apparently hadn't changed. Adam still wasn't a morning person. She squirmed from his touch. "Go and shave, you're scratchy."

Adam feigned hurt, edging his lower lip forward so that it looked like he was pouting. "Ouch, how you sting. You're a cruel mistress."

"Wife, not mistress, remember?" she teased him.

"You're a cruel wife," he repeated, chuckling now.

"Yeah, I know." She slapped him lightly on his upper arm. "Now go."

"All right, all right," he laughed. When he was almost out the door, he turned back to her, wiggling his finger. "I'll be back. That's a threat."

She laughed back at him, lifting her arms in a mockingly self-protective gesture. "Oooh, I'm so scared now."

He stuck his tongue out at her before he left the room.

Joan went back into the kitchen to get the cereal cartons, still smiling. Boy, had she missed this. Just missed being a wife, having a family. And with a twang of pain, the doubts were back, the uncertainty. How long would they be able to _be_ a family? How long until He would come back and ask for her help, give her another assignment? How long until she would be ripped away from her family again? And she hadn't even told Elya yet. Hadn't told her about the true reason why she had left her family behind ten years ago.

Almost automatically, she went back and fro between the kitchen and the dining table, putting everything there that she thought belonged to a proper and healthy breakfast. The coffee maker was making sputtering noises that usually indicated that the freshly brewed coffee was about done too. The announcer on the radio was saying something about this being a bright and beautiful day and the orange sun setting in the distance was any indication that he might actually be right.

When Elya trudged into the living room, she made a beeline for the breakfast table. She plopped down in her usual chair and let some Fruit Loops tumble from the carton into her cereal bowl, adding milk on top. Joan sat down as well, preparing a sandwich and watching Elya scoop spoonfuls of cereal into her mouth as she did. She couldn't believe it had only been a week and a half since she'd come back. Already it felt like a perfect morning routine.

After their big fight, she and Adam had slowly become closer again, had agreed on making the best of their time together. He had been more distant at first, reluctant. But gradually, Adam had seemed to come to terms with the fact that she had not been faithful, but that she deeply regretted it and knew it had been a giant mistake.

She looked at her daughter, asking her, "Cheese all right with you?" indicating the sandwich in front of her.

Elya's glance was almost exasperated. "Mom, you don't have to make sandwiches for me. Dad never does that."

Joan lifted her eyebrows. "He doesn't? Then I need to have a word with him about that."

Adam came back into the room, fumbling with the knot of his tie, making a face as he did. "A word about what?" he asked.

But Joan didn't elaborate. She got up from her chair and stood in front of him, helping him adjust the tie. "My, don't _you_ look handsome today?" she said with a hint of admiration in her voice.

Adam drew another annoyed face. "Yeah, I hate these things." He put a finger between the collar and his neck, loosening the tightness a little. "Stupid meetings, I hate 'em."

"Aww, come on. You'll live," Joan told him in mock sympathy.

"Yeah, barely," he growled.

"Come on, have some breakfast," Joan invited him.

"First let me do this." He put his hands on her hips, drew her closer to him and planted a kiss on Joan's mouth. "I said I'd be back, didn't I?"

"You're spoiling me," she smiled at him.

"And how is that bad?" he asked back.

Joan looked over at Elya. "Isn't it enough to have one spoiled person in the house?"

Elya looked up at her parents from her cereal bowl, protesting in a loud, "Hey!"

Both Adam and Joan smiled back at her. Behind Joan's back, Adam whispered to Elya, "She didn't mean it."

Joan turned around to Adam, "Yes, I meant it." There was a teasing twinkle in her eye. "But what is it I hear about her father not making her sandwiches to take to school?"

"Hey, not my fault." Adam shrugged his shoulders. "She asked me to stop doing it, so I did."

Joan sat back down and looked at the buttered sandwich, then at Elya. "So you don't want this, do you?"

Elya shook her head, chewing on her Fruit Loops. "Okay," Joan said cheerfully. She dug the knife into the cherry jam and spread it over the bread before she took a hearty bite from it.

Elya just gave her a strange look but didn't comment any further. Adam sat down at the table, not making a move to eat anything.

"Not hungry?" Joan asked him, looking at him.

"Too early," was his simple answer as he sipped at his coffee mug. Cream, no sugar, Joan noticed. Also something that hadn't changed.

"That's not healthy, you know?" she told him.

"Yeah, I know. And yet I'm still alive, after years and years of skipping breakfast."

"You're a hopeless case," Joan said in a resigned tone, but making it sound like a little harmless chaffing.

Elya licked the milk from her spoon and put it back down into the now empty bowl. Looking at Joan, she said, "You know, I've been trying to tell him for ages that he should eat something in the morning. Just the other week we learned in health class how important it is that you start the day with a good breakfast."

Joan raised her eyebrows. "Hear that?" She looked at Adam. "You've got a pretty smart daughter."

Adam sighed. "Two smart women, I think I'm outnumbered." He pulled the cereal bowl in front of him closer and reached for the cornflakes and milk. "I give up. Happy now?" He poured flakes and milk into the bowl, then looked from Elya to Joan.

Both were smiling. "Very," said Joan, giving Adam the sweetest of smiles. She just couldn't help smiling at her adorable husband, now that he was right there next to her.

Adam smiled back a smile just as sweet. "Yeah, you would be."

Elya had to look down, hiding a smirk. "Look at you. You're like lovestruck teenagers. It's disgusting."

Both Adam and Joan looked at their daughter now, then at each other. Joan had to smile again. "Teenagers..." Her eyes took on a thoughtful expression. "That's so long ago. I don't think I even remember that far back."

"Not sure I want to," Adam chimed in between bites. There were things in their past that weren't all too pleasant to think or talk about. Things that reflected recent events and their big fight, and neither of them was prepared to go there again.

To quickly change the subject, Joan looked at Adam expectantly. "So, what's on the agenda tonight? I thought we could all catch a movie or go out to dinner or something." Joan was desperately trying to catch up on the family life, wanting to spend as much time with Adam and Elya. She didn't trust the peace, secretly she was always expecting Him to pop in and hand her another assignment, ask her to leave again.

Elya's face fell slightly. "Uh, I have jujitsu practice, Mom. And I was gonna meet with Joanna afterwards."

Joan tried to hide her disappointment. "Okay, so that leaves the two of us then, huh?" She now directed her gaze at her husband.

Adam's expression was apologetic, almost sad. "I'm sorry, Jane. I promised Steven I'd drop by to fix something with his computer. We've been putting it off for weeks, I think he'd be pretty peeved if I cancel on him again."

"Right." Now Joan didn't try to hide her disappointment anymore. Truth was, she felt like an intruder suddenly. Like she had entered the life of a family that she wasn't a part of anymore. A family who had made friends she didn't know, was immersed in activities that she had no part of.

Adam's eyes met hers and there was this intense, soulful look in them that Joan had almost forgotten. He got up and stood behind her chair, placing his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently. He bowed down to plant a kiss on her head. "I can cancel on Steven. We can do something tonight," he told her in the gentle voice she always associated with something soft and sweet, like cotton candy.

Joan was torn between wanting to spend time with her husband or giving him the space he might need, leaving him the part of his own life that she had suddenly taken over again. She realized that she'd have to slide her way back into this family slowly, not force herself upon them like a wedge being hammered in. Her right hand went to her left shoulder to place it over Adam's left hand. "No," she told him. "You and Steve knock yourselves out. We'll do something some other time." Silently, she hoped there would be another time.

"Are you sure?" Adam's voice was still gentle, doubtful.

"Yeah," she said determinedly. "I'm positive. I'll just ... give this house a good spring cleaning or something. I'll keep busy."

Who was she kidding? Like she'd actually enjoy doing chores! Who ever did? The truth was, during the day, when Adam and Elya were out, at school or at work, she was starting to get bored. There was only so much relaxing one could take, especially someone with her past. She felt very useless during these solitary hours in the house. It had been a welcome change in the beginning, but she was starting to get itchy with the need for something that involved a little more activity, a little more responsibility.

"Okay, Jane," Adam told her before he went over to his seat to pour down the last mouthful of his now lukewarm coffee.

Elya shifted her position on her chair, drawing one leg up and putting her bare foot underneath her other thigh. She looked at her father as she asked, "Why do you call Mom Jane all the time anyway?"

Adam smiled at the memory. Jane. Where exactly had she come from? He looked at Joan lovingly. "The first time I set eyes on her, in AP Chem class, that's who she was. She was standing there and I thought: That's Jane."

"You were in AP Chem?" Elya gaped at her father.

Adam almost blushed. "Yeah, believe it or not."

Elya grinned. "I so cannot picture you as a chemistry buff."

Adam shrugged his shoulders upwards. "Who said I was a buff?"

"So you sucked at it?" Elya asked.

Adam had to chuckle. "No, I didn't really suck either. I just ... I guess we all wormed our way through." To Joan he said, "I don't think we would have made it without your brother, though."

"So true," Joan admitted. "Your uncle Luke is the science geek."

To bring the conversation back on topic, Elya said, "So to you she was Jane. That's still no reason to call her that when it's not her name."

"To me it was enough of one," Adam replied.

Joan added, "Well, actually in the beginning your father was a bit of a dreamer. Everyone thought he was a stoner."

Adam's smile was almost embarrassed as Joan continued. "I thought he didn't know my real name and kept calling me Jane because he didn't know better. Until I found out it wasn't quite like that."

"How so?" Elya asked, but Joan sighed a weary sigh.

"You remember when I told you about the smashed sculpture? That had something to do with it, but it's a bit of a long story. And the two of you need to get going. Let's save it for later, all right?"

Elya resigned, albeit not easily. "Yeah, but I believe you owe me more than just that story."

Joan looked down to her lap where she found her fingers fumbling around with the seam of the tablecloth. In a voice heavier and laced with troubles she said, "Yes. Yes, I do, Elya. And I'm gonna make good on that soon, I promise."

"Okay," Elya just accepted.

Joan looked up, desperate to break up the tension that had suddenly built up. "Now shoo. You're not even dressed yet," she told her daughter.

Elya drew a face but knew she had to obey. Reluctantly, she left the table and then went upstairs to her room to pick her outfit for the day.

Adam and Joan carried the dirty dishes and the food into the kitchen together. When they were finished, Adam stood opposite Joan and kissed her softly on the lips. He lifted his eyebrows when he leaned back. "You told her about the sculpture?"

He didn't have to explain which sculpture he meant. "Yeah, I ... It was after we had the big fight the other morning."

"Hm," Adam just murmured. Then the look on his face turned more serious and almost worried. "When are you gonna tell her?"

Joan took a step back to separate their physical connection. "Soon," she simply said.

There was a certain tiredness in his voice, something impatient mixed in. "Jane, you have to tell her. She needs to know."

"I know," Joan said wearily, then she breathed out a heavy lungful of air. "It's just ... I don't know if I'm ready. If she's ready."

Adam took a step closer and took both her upper arms, gently but determinedly. "Believe me, she's ready. Look, you said yourself you didn't know how much time you had. We need to stop kidding ourselves. You might not be able to stay much longer. You need to do this." His gaze on her was intense. So intense that she didn't know if she could stand it much longer.

"I will tell her. As soon as I get the chance. I promise," she told him, her voice firm.

Adam released his grip on her arms and drew her closer, gave her a light hug. Joan let herself be enveloped by his arms and placed her head on his shoulder.

"So, rain check about tonight?" he asked as they broke from their embrace.

She gave him a brave smile. "Yeah, rain check."

"Okay," Adam seemed to accept her answer. He went into the hall and called up the stairs. "Elya? Get a move on, we need to leave."

"I'm coming!" filtered Elya's voice down the staircase before she ran down the stairs in fast steps. "Ready," she exclaimed.

Adam turned to Joan and gave her another kiss, this time on the cheek. "See you tonight, Jane."

Joan saw the both of them off from the open front door. "You two be good. Go get 'em. Both of you."

Adam and Elya each gave her a wave as they went to the car. Joan sighed and closed the door behind her, her face changing to not quite that much of a pleasant expression. Another day to kill by herself with very little to do but chores.

* * *

The weatherman had indeed been right. Who would have thought? It was indeed a beautiful day, if maybe a little chilly for April, and Joan didn't feel much like staying in the house. She needed fresh air, something she had somehow not gotten enough of these past few days. So she put on a jacket and left the house.

It was really the first time she was paying attention to her surroundings. A lot of this town had changed in ten years, she only realized that now. New homes had been built all around, buildings she had never seen had appeared here and there. This city had apparently transformed from sleepy retreat to a popular small town where families would build their own, cozy little home—far enough away from busy streets, yet close enough to the city to take a stroll through the mall for some real or just window shopping.

Joan began wandering aimlessly, letting her feet guide her. The cherry trees planted along the street were in bloom and the wind was blowing the pink-white petals through the air, swirling them around in eddies on the sidewalk around her feet. She breathed in the scent and relished in the albeit short-lived feeling of carefree unconcern.

It took her a good twenty minutes to reach the park just outside of the downtown area. She hadn't been here in so long, she almost didn't recognize it. Flowerbeds had been rearranged, some of the trees had grown quite a bit. New recreation areas and playgrounds had been built, equipped with modern, state-of-the-art junglegyms and monkey bars and other gadgets. Joan strolled along one of the paths, sitting down on one of the benches to watch a group of young adults playing a game of Frisbee on one of the lawns.

"Bored, Joan?" she suddenly heard an all too familiar voice from behind her.

She jerked her head around to recognize one of the many avatars of Him that she had gotten to know over the years. This one she was probably most familiar with, He was the first one who had ever approached her, had told her about her special connection to the world. And He looked just as strikingly handsome, even now, both of them having aged almost twenty years since they had first met.

"Oh, please," Joan told Him with a hint of frustration in her voice. "Why do you keep asking questions that you already know the answers to?"

"What you think and what you tell people isn't the same. That's why I think mind reading would never become widely acknowledged, had someone invented or mastered it by now. Too much privacy being violated."

"To answer your question," Joan stated, knowing full well He would prod until He got an answer, "yeah, I guess you could say I'm slightly bored. So, have you come to take me away again? To send me someplace where I can do good and help and be useful? Someplace where my family isn't? Because as much of a drag as being a housewife can be, I think I'd prefer that if it meant being with Adam and Elya." More quietly, she added, "Because I don't think I could stand leaving again. Didn't it do enough damage the first time? Please don't make me," she almost whispered.

CuteBoy-God sat down next to her. His eyes were warm when they looked at Joan, compassionate. "See that brown-haired young woman over there?" He pointed at a girl, maybe in her late teens or early twenties, jumping in the air and catching the Frisbee someone had thrown in her direction. Energetically, she ran a few yards and passed the Frisbee on to one of her team mates, clapping loudly in anticipation of a point being scored for her team.

"Yeah, what about her?" Joan asked almost wearily. She could feel another assignment coming on.

"I'd like you to meet her," CuteBoy-God said matter-of-factly.

"And then what?"

"You'll see," He told her with that annoyingly enigmatic smile. "Her name's Tammy. Take her out to dinner. I think the two of you have a lot to talk about."

"Like what?" Joan asked, not sure she was going to get an answer.

"Go and talk to her, Joan," CuteBoy-God said. It was more of an order, coming from Him.

"All right," Joan sighed, resigning to her fate. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad. Maybe this didn't mean leaving again. That was certainly a possibility.

He got up from the bench and lingered, standing in front of Joan for a moment. Joan looked up at Him with a certain sense of curiosity. "What?" she asked Him.

He smiled a wise smile at her. "You've come a long way, Joan."

Joan's reply was sarcastic, the way it often was when it came to talking to Him. "Gee, thanks. Is that another way of saying that I've finally grown up?"

"Oh, you have much more than that. Think about that, will you?" He stepped aside and walked away, lifting his right arm to give her The Wave.

"Great," Joan muttered. "Always with the hidden meanings."

Her glance went to the brown-haired girl with the loosely bouncing brown curls. Tammy. Was that short for Tamara? Joan sighed again and started to walk over to her. She would find out soon enough.

She approached Tammy just as they had finished their Frisbee match. Tammy was standing to the side with her team mates. Joan could hear snippets of conversation as she got closer. "Oh, you lousy slacker, you could have easily scored that point!" - "No way, not with you hiding out on the other side of the field." - "Aw, come on!"

Joan vaguely remembered a time when she and her friends had engaged in physical activities that were actually fun—like a Frisbee match among friends. "Um, excuse me. Tammy?" she carefully walked up to Tammy.

Tammy looked at her, at first confused and surprised that a complete stranger would know her name. Then her hand went to her mouth, as if she had recognized her counterpart. "Oh my God, you're Joan!" Tammy explained.

Now it was Joan's part to look puzzled. What was going on? She had never seen, never met this girl before today, not that she could recall. Her eyebrows creased together as she answered, "Yes, I'm Joan. Have we met?"

Tammy blushed slightly, then stammered, "Uh ... no. No, I don't ... I don't think so. Wow, I didn't think I'd actually meet you. Quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

"I'm sorry," Joan tried again. "I'm a little confused. I think you know more about me than I do about you. How—"

They were interrupted by one of Tammy's friends, a buff looking guy with short, blond hair. "Sorry to interrupt. Tammy, we gotta go if we don't wanna be late."

Tammy looked slightly stressed for a moment, not sure what to do. She half turned to go but hurriedly said to Joan, "Look, I'm sorry, I gotta go."

Joan quickly cut in, "I know this might sound a little weird, but do you think we could have dinner some time?"

Tammy looked surprised, but also pleased. Her face lit up into a smile. "Uhm ... yeah, sure. Where and when?"

Joan looked lost. She didn't know this town well enough anymore to suggest what place would have good enough food and not be too loud to talk. She tried not to let it show. "Where do you suggest?"

Tammy thought for a moment, then said, "There's this nice Italian place, 'Antonio's'. You know it? Their pizza is to die for. How about tomorrow, say, 7:30?"

"I love Italian, sounds perfect," Joan said enthusiastically. "Where is it?"

"Brighton Square, you'll find it. If not, ask around, it's pretty popular."

"Okay, sure," Joan replied and watched Tammy leave with her friends. She couldn't help but wonder who this young woman really was and why God might want her to get to know her.

* * *


	11. Decommissioned

**Chapter 11 – Decommissioned**

* * *

_**Author's Note:**  
I know, I know. It's been ages since I've updated this story. I'll bet most of you thought I had abandoned it. Well, I kept insisting that I'd finish it some time. I'm still determined to do so, but I have little spare time next to a busy job, and that little time I often have to channel into other things these days. However, I'm trying. So just bear with me._

_Please note that I made a few tiny changes to the end of the previous chapter because the continuity wasn't quite right. _

_**Synopsis:**  
Who is the mysterious girl, Tammy? And what does she have to do with Joan? We'll finally find out in this chapter._

_**Rating: **__PG-13_

_**Disclaimer:**  
These characters and settings are not mine. Nor am I claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. I'm not making any money out of this, although I wish I was._

* * *

Joan couldn't sleep. Memories were haunting her, memories of a time that seemed ages ago but wasn't that far in the past. Adam was lying next to her, breathing regularly, sleeping soundly. For the last hour she had questioned some of the choices she had made, that had led her here.

She felt movement next to her, her husband stirred and turned over to lie on his side. She studied him in the dim early morning light, couldn't get enough of his silent beauty. It hit her like a rock that she might have to give it all up again, and she didn't think she could. "No," she said aloud without realizing.

It woke him up, he slowly opened his eyes, looked at her. It took him a few seconds to come to. "Everything okay?" he finally whispered.

"Yeah," she whispered back. "It's early. Go back to sleep."

He turned to lie on his back and silence settled for a few minutes before he turned his head to see that Joan, too, wasn't gonna fall back asleep either.

"Why are you awake?" he asked.

"I don't know. Just woke up and couldn't sleep. My mind's on overdrive this morning."

"Tell me what's on your mind, then."

"I don't think you wanna know," she carefully declined. These were things that she'd better keep to herself. "What's on _your_ mind?"

"You?" he asked more than said.

She smiled. "Well, that's nice to hear." Her voice grew more somber when she asked, "Did you really think I'd come back? All these years, you waited for me all these years, would have waited longer than this?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "What, you didn't think I would?"

"I... don't know. Maybe it was easier if I told myself you wouldn't, that you weren't missing me like I was missing you."

He was quiet for a moment, "So tell me, if you missed me so much, what made you sleep with that other guy?"

They were back to that, she would have to expect that he'd eventually get back to that topic. One of the choices she had made that she regretted most—especially now.

She didn't know what to say, but she tried anyway. "Adam, you have to understand. I didn't love him. It just happened. It was one of those things that you think you have no control over. That feel so right when they happen and so wrong after they're over. I hated myself afterwards."

For a split second, he was taken back to his high school days, and a certain flicker of understanding burned inside of him. Back then, his bad judgment had destroyed everything. He had just never thought that Joan would make the same mistakes, she had been the one to live with the aftermath then. She should know better than anyone what it felt like.

He didn't say anything in reply and Joan's voice was more urgent, pleading, as she went on. "But, you see, afterwards I realized that it would never be what I wanted. Yes, that man may have satisfied my physical needs then, but he would never be what you are to me. I never loved him, and even though I knew that, I only really realized it after the fact. No one could ever be what you are to me." More quietly, Joan added, "But how could you blame me? There was just no way for me to know if I would ever return to you, if I would ever have you again by my side. And no way for me to know if you would be waiting for me all this time. Because that was more than I could ever expect. Of anyone."

Adam turned back around to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his head. There was silence for a few seconds, a silence that was heavy with unspoken words and doubts and disappointment and unmet expectations.

Adam's voice was low, hoarse, with a bitter edge to it. "You didn't think I'd wait for you? All those phone conversations we had, all those times I begged you to come home, I told you I loved you, you thought that was just a lie?"

"No," Joan immediately denied. "No, it was just ... We were so far apart and drifting apart more with every day that went by. Maybe I just wanted to believe it, because it would have made things easier."

Once it was out of her mouth, she realized it didn't quite sound like she had wanted it to, and Adam got it just the wrong way.

Bitterly, he replied, "So you're saying I'm a fool to wait for the seemingly impossible to happen, for not jumping and humping the next woman who came along, taking her for my new wife. Really, Joan, you should know me better than that."

"Adam, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever doubted you. There were times where I took you for a fool that you would be waiting for me, but you did. You did, and ... and I don't know what else to say than that I love you for it more than I can ever tell you." She could feel her eyes sting with tears as she whispered, "And I just know that when I have to leave again, it will hurt you, the two of you more than I think I can stand."

So many emotions played on Adam's face, in his eyes as he whispered her name. "Oh, Jane." He drew closer and enveloped her in his arms. "I know it's not gonna be good enough, but let's just make the best of the time that we have."

"Yeah," Joan answered, her voice heavy. "Yeah, let's do that."

They lay with Adam's arms around Joan until the alarm clock went off, ripping both of them from a world far away from reality and yet not necessarily less burdensome.

* * *

"Damn, I should have taken the warm coat instead," Joan thought as she wrapped her thin jacket a little tighter around herself in a futile effort to keep the still chilly April night air out. She hurried in fast steps towards the entrance of a restaurant with the sign "Antonio's" above the door, wondering all the way why she was meeting with a woman she didn't know.

The warm air inside hit Joan like a brick wall but she welcomed the sudden change in temperature. Her first impression of the restaurant was positive, to say the least. The atmosphere seemed warm and relaxed and she felt immediately welcome here. Tammy had definitely picked a nice place.

Joan's eyes scanned the restaurant searchingly until she found Tammy already seated at a table towards the back. Joan went over there and sat down, hanging her jacket and scarf over the backrest of the vacant chair next to her. "Hi, thanks for coming," she told Tammy.

"Oh, I couldn't refuse. This should be really interesting."

Joan looked confused for a moment. She had the uncanny feeling that Tammy knew more about her than she did about Tammy. Which was practically nothing. Before she could ask, though, the waiter came to the table and they ordered cold drinks. Joan picked up the menu and started leafing through it. "So, what's good here?"

With her nose in the menu herself, Tammy answered, "Any kind of pasta is just to die for, but pizza's also very good. If you want something a little less rich, I can recommend the Caesar salad."

Joan went over to the pasta section. She could do with a good helping of Spaghetti Carbonara right about now. Tammy went with Tortellini. After the waiter had brought the drinks and had noted their meal orders, Tammy look at Joan expectantly. "So... you're Joan."

She said it in a way that Joan again was of the impression Tammy knew who she was. Like a celebrity you see in the movies and finally get to meet in person. Only Joan wasn't a celebrity. Quite the opposite, she had always tried to keep a low profile.

"Yeah, I'm Joan," she said, trying not to sound huffish. "And I'm curious. How exactly do you know me?"

Tammy studied her for a moment. "Someone told me about you."

"Like who?"

"I don't think you know him. He's kinda inconspicuous, a million guys look like him," Tammy said off-handedly.

"Would you tell me his name?"

"I don't think he'd appreciate that."

Joan frowned. She didn't exactly welcome Tammy's secrecy. In a slightly annoyed tone, she said, "Okay, so what? Is he, like, a journalist or top secret agent?"

Tammy laughed softly. "No, nothing like that."

"So you don't wanna tell me how you know me, fine. Can you at least tell me what you've heard about me?"

Tammy smiled. "Don't worry. Only good things."

Joan was getting fed up. "Come on, Tammy, cut the crap. Why are we here?"

She shrugged, not seeming offended in the least. "Hey, _you_ were the one who invited me here."

Yeah, Joan knew that all too well, but she just couldn't figure out why God would ask her to invite this strange girl to dinner when they didn't seem to have any common ground to build upon. But then, it suddenly dawned on Joan. She heard Tammy's words repeat in her head: _A million guys look like him. _Like _Him_? Could it be...?

It was then that their food was brought to the table. As they began to eat, Joan looked at Tammy. "That guy you talked about, is he... young, handsome? Brown, spiky hair, beige corduroy jacket? Wise-cracks all the time?"

Tammy raised her eyebrows. "Uh... I don't know. Could be."

"Sometimes he wears Goth stuff. Piercings, tight black jeans. Kinda tall and skinny. Very spiky hair. Always waves when he leaves."

When Tammy didn't reply right away, Joan mumbled more to herself than to Tammy, "God, I must be insane. What am I doing?"

But Tammy then said, "Well, he's more like this big guy, kinda reminds me of _The Sopranos_ sometimes. But I think I know who you're talking about."

Joan was speechless. No way! All her life, ever since high school, she had wondered if she was the only one. For a while she thought that maybe Ryan Hunter was like her, but it turned out he wasn't quite like her. Could Tammy be the one?

Joan had to know. She leaned forward across the table, saying in a very low voice, "This may sound crazy to you—and I don't blame you if think I am, but... Are you talking to God?"

For the first time, something akin to surprise played on Tammy face. It was answer enough for Joan. She leaned back in her chair. "You're another connection," she merely stated.

"Connection?" Tammy asked.

"Yeah. That's what he calls people like us."

"There's more of us?"

Joan hesitated. "To be honest, I don't know. I always assumed there was, but I never met any. Well, until today."

Tammy looked at her. "Isn't it kinda mind-blowing, though? How long have you been doing this?"

"Since I was sixteen. I moved to Arcadia with my family. One fine day He walked across the school yard and told me He was God. And that He wanted me to do something for Him."

Tammy nodded, as if she fully understood. "It was similar with me. Except He turned up at a basketball game at college. Actually, He was a She then. That was maybe two years ago." She studied Joan for a long while. "Have you been doing this all this time? Since high school?"

A shadow crossed Joan's features. "Yeah," she sighed, not sure if she should be telling Tammy what it had cost her. Her heart ached when she thought about how this young woman might have to make sacrifices like hers if she chose to commit her life to her gift the way Joan had done.

Tammy picked up on Joan's sudden change of mood. "Let me guess, it wasn't always easy."

_You don't wanna know_, Joan thought to herself. But she didn't think it was her place to tell Tammy just how much hardship might be awaiting her. She would have to figure it out by herself, make her own decisions, choose her own destiny. "I would be lying if I told you it's a piece of cake. But it brings a lot of rewards. Sometimes you don't see the aftereffects, the ripples. But most often you do, and that's what always kept me going."

"So why do you think— Wait a minute. Did He tell you to meet with me?"

Joan had to smile. "Actually, He did."

"Okay, so what's His deal with us? Why would He want us to meet?"

Joan's finger went to her lip, playing with it. She had a suspicion. "I know this might sound kind of weird, but I think he wants me to step down."

"What? You mean, like, I'm your successor?"

Joan nodded. "Somehow feels that way."

"Why? Are you giving up? Are you tired of this?"

Joan didn't know how to answer that question. "No, I'm not giving up. But maybe it's time I had a chance to live with my family. Get to know my own daughter."

Tammy looked stricken at the implications. "You gave up your family for this?"

Joan nodded sadly. "Yes."

Tammy leaned back in her chair, her shoulders slumped, looking deflated. "Whoa. Now I don't feel so blessed anymore."

Joan tried to get her attention. "Tammy, listen to me. That was my choice, and mine alone. You don't have to make the same choices. Maybe you're stronger than me. Or maybe you have a better handle on things. Or maybe this is gonna be totally different for you."

"Yeah," she just said, sounding disheartened.

"You know that He always tells you that everything is about free will, don't you?"

"Of course I do. But did you ever turn Him down?"

"Yes. Lots of times."

"And?"

"And sometimes it was okay, sometimes things fell apart, just like life itself. You have a choice to refuse Him, and He won't hold it against you if you do. That's one of the things I learned in all this."

She just nodded, looking a little less intimidated now.

"Just know that you can say no, any time, any place. Don't let it take over your life."

"Okay," she acknowledged.

They had finished with their meals and the waiter came to take the plates away. They politely assured him the food hat been wonderful. Both Tammy and Joan were still trying to wrap their heads around what they had just learned. Joan paid for the meal, and outside the restaurant, they didn't know what to say.

"So what happens now?" Tammy asked.

Joan wrapped her arms around her torso to keep warm, temperatures had dropped another few degrees. "I don't know. I think if He intends for us to meet again, we will."

Tammy nodded. She held out her hand for Joan to shake it. "Goodbye, Joan. I am glad we met."

"Yeah, me too."

"All the best for you and your family."

"And you. I wish you all the luck and strength in the world. Just remember that He has faith in you. So do I."

"Thanks," Tammy mumbled as she turned to hail a cab.

Joan walked to the nearest bus stop. A familiar figure was sitting on the small bench inside the booth. Same short, spiky hair, same corduroy jacket. She sat down next to Him, waited for him to speak.

He did after a minute. "You liked her, didn't you?"

She looked at him. "Why would that matter? You don't need my approval."

"No, Joan, I don't need it. But it makes it easier if I have your blessing."

She laughed a soft, short laugh. "My blessing? That's funny. I thought you were the one who blessed people."

He gave her that typical half-smile of His. "Sometimes I do. But you have the power to bless people as well, in your own way."

Joan thought about that a moment and then turned her head sideways to look at him. "You know that already, but, yes, I liked her. I just hope she's not gonna have to make the same sacrifices I did."

"You summed it up beautifully before. She can choose her own destiny."

"Yeah," Joan sighed. "But she seems a lot like me. She's not gonna say no easily. Just take good care of her."

He nodded. "You know I will."

They sat in silence for a moment, and a thought occurred to Joan. "We're not gonna be like Charlie's Angels now, right? Only without the third angel?"

"No, Joan. This is more like ..." He looked into the distance for a moment, as if He was looking for the right metaphor. "Let's say it's more like Mission Impossible, only with a new Tom Cruise."

"So you're indeed saying what I thought you were saying?"

CuteBoy-God smiled at her. "What do you think I was sayin', Joan?"

"That I'm being dismissed, decommissioned?"

There was this certain twinkle in His eyes that Joan had never seen in anyone else's. "No, I wouldn't quite put it like that. I'd call it something more like being ... 'relieved of duty'."

"Really?" Joan asked. She couldn't believe she was hearing this, not from Him. But it suddenly made sense. This was how He had appeared to her for the first time, it was only natural that He'd choose this particular avatar as the one who would appear to her the last time around.

He just gave her that all-knowing smile, the one only He could pull off. Because He _was_ all-knowing. "Really," He confirmed.

"Wait," Joan interjected, raising her hand. "Does that ... does that mean I'm not gonna see you anymore? I mean ... I—" She didn't know how to voice her concerns. "I might have wanted this to stop, so many times, but I ... I don't know if I'm ready to give it all up. I don't know if that's really how I wanted it to turn out."

"You can't always have everything, Joan," He told her, speaking to her like a father might to his child who was asking for that much too expensive bike for their birthday.

"But I—" Joan started, but God interrupted her.

"No buts. Some things you just have to accept and move on. It's the flow of life. Set your sail and adjust to the change of wind direction."

Joan's face scrunched together in a momentarily angry expression. "So you came to me, two decades ago, making me this ... this vessel. Making me do things, helping people, saving people. And now you just present me with a fait accompli, telling me flat-out that I need to accept it, need to live with it? God, I gave my family up for you!" She was now yelling at Him. "I never got to watch my little girl grow up, I left my husband and family behind. I gave up my _life_ for you! And you have the audacity to stand here and tell me that's it. Just like that, with a flick of a wrist?"

Joan paused, breathing heavily, waiting for His reaction. His gaze on her was almost sorry. "No, Joan, I never asked you give your life up for me."

But Joan wasn't done raging. "Oh, no no no no. Don't start with the 'free will' crap. You know as well as I that I never had a choice. You always made it sound like I had, but you also knew that I would never refuse your wishes, your _suggestions_." She sarcastically stressed the last word to mock its meaning. "And I did, I always did, no matter how hard it was. Because I knew that some good was gonna come from it."

For the moment she ignored the fact that she was contradicting herself. Just minutes earlier she had told Tammy that she would always have a choice. It didn't matter now as she spat, "I knew that there were things involved that I had no control over, but I also knew that if I just did what you said, it would turn out all right. And somehow it always has. Except for my family. Except for Adam and Elya. Nothing of what I did while I was out of their lives was of any consequence to them. Other than them missing me, condemning me for going away, for not coming back." Her voice had become bitter.

CuteBoy-God looked at her, sought out her eyes. How was it that she could not look away, how she had to stare right back into them even when she was raving mad at him. "Who said that what you did was of no consequence to them? You don't always see the ripples, Joan, but it doesn't mean they're not there. And you did come back, didn't you?"

"Yeah, ten years later," Joan contemptuously said.

"Even if you might not believe it or see it that way," He went on unperturbed, "I'm doing you a favor."

"Yeah, right," Joan said sarcastically. "Some favor."

"Think about it, Joan." He started to walk away, but turned around again. "And who said it was the last time you saw me?"

Joan opened her mouth, but couldn't say anything. This was all too confusing, too mind-blowing.

She watched Him as He said, "Goodbye, Joan," and waved before he turned back around and slowly walked away.

* * *

When Joan returned home, she kicked the door shut with one of her feet, for lack of other means since she was carrying a bag with groceries under each arm. "I'm ho-oooome, anybody here?" she hollered, expecting either Elya or Adam or both to answer.

"Upstairs," came her husband's muffled voice as the sole reply to her question.

"Okay," Joan muttered to herself, smiling slightly. She went into the kitchen, placing the two bags on the counter before she went upstairs.

She found Adam in the study, surfing the internet from what it looked like. "Hey," she said cheerfully.

Adam swiveled the desk chair around to look at her. He looked tired, stressed. "Hey," he answered, but the strain in his voice was clearly audible.

Joan went over to him. "What's wrong?" she enquired worriedly. "Bad day?"

"Yeah," he sighed and then rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "That, and a headache."

Joan took the back of the desk chair and turned it so Adam's back was facing her. Her hands went to his shoulders and she started massaging them.

He moaned softly, indicating that what she was doing was pleasing him.

"Your muscles are all tensed up," Joan said and intensified her finger movements. "Is that better?"

"Much," he sighed, releasing his breath before he leaned his head back so he could look up at her from his sitting position.

A smile crept into his features and Joan couldn't help but bend down and kiss him. Their lips met and she thought she could taste the faint flavor of coffee. "And that?" she asked teasingly after she withdrew her mouth from his.

"Even better yet." He still smiled as he bit down on his lower lip, licking it to relish the lingering taste of her lip gloss.

Her hands still resting on his shoulders, she continued to massage them as she said, "There's something we should talk about."

Maybe it had sounded more serious than she had intended because Adam's reply was worried. "Why, did something happen?"

Joan made it a point to sound carefree, unconcerned. "Yeah, something happened all right."

"Like what?" Adam's voice was now more curious than worried.

"Like I... Like me actually staying."

She stopped rubbing Adam's back and let the sentence hang in the air, waiting for his reaction.

Adam swiveled the chair back around, looking up at her with questioning eyes. "Really?" He sounded hopeful, elated.

"Yeah," Joan said with a smile.

Adam reached for her hands that were now hanging by her sides and took them. "How come?"

"I ... I met this girl. Or young woman," Joan corrected herself. "And ... and it turns out she also talks to God."

"Okay. So?" Adam asked when Joan stopped there like it would explain everything. "I mean, Ryan also was a ... connection. That didn't stop you from ... from what you were doing. From leaving."

"No," Joan said, not sounding quite so elated anymore. Adam didn't understand what she was saying. But could she blame him? "No, look, this is different," she tried to explain. "Ryan wasn't like that, he was evil. I mean, he got what he deserved in the end, but he did so much damage in the process. But Tammy isn't like that. She's like me."

She looked at Adam expectantly, but Adam's expression still spoke of confusion which very slowly gave way to the first hint of enlightenment. "She's like you? Does that mean ... she's gonna become you?"

Yes, _now_ he was getting it! Joan nodded, saying, "Yeah. Well, at least that's what I think it is. You know, He's never really all that clear, but why else would He have introduced her to me?"

"He introduced her to you?" Adam asked, still not quite following.

"Okay," Joan said resolutely. "Maybe you should hear the whole story."

And Joan told him how she had met Tammy in the park, how they had gone out for dinner, how God had told her afterwards that she was 'relieved of duty'. When she was through, she studied her husband, trying to read what was on his mind.

She could see that he still seemed a bit skeptic. "So, what does that all mean?" he finally asked.

Joan shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I wish I knew." She smiled a warm smile at Adam. "But what is most important is that I can stay here now, with you. And not go away again. Isn't that what you wanted all along? Isn't that what we all wanted?"

Adam finally stood up from the desk chair and placed his hands on Joan's hips, leaning in for a soft kiss. "That's all I ever wanted," he said. And that was enough of an answer for both of them. Joan initiated another kiss, which would have deepened if it hadn't been for Elya interrupting them, having just come home.

She stood in the doorway with a smirk on her face. "Eww, parental intimacy. Don't mean to interrupt." She lifted her hands and turned to go.

"No," Adam said, waving her back in. "We have some good news," he said with a smile.

Elya gaped at both of them, then her gaze lingered on her mother. "Oh my God. You're not ... pregnant, are you?"

Adam and Joan both laughed softly. "No," Joan said with a chuckle. "I think we're a little too old for that now."

Adam cut in, "Your mom's gonna stay with us. She's not leaving again."

Elya's eyes lit up. "Really?" she happily piped up.

Both Adam and Joan nodded and Elya exclaimed, "Cool! We're gonna be a real family."

Adam's eyes went to the wall clock. "With real curfews. You're half an hour late, young lady," he chastised Elya.

"Dad," Elya said apologetically. "I ... I was gonna call. Tanya and I were watching this movie and we kinda forgot the time and then I missed the bus and ..."

Adam smiled at her forgivingly. "It's okay." In a more determined tone he said, "This time. The next time I won't be quite so lenient."

"Okay," Elya just acknowledged. Before she turned to go, she looked at both her parents again. "Just promise me one thing," she told them and felt both their curious pairs of eyes on her. "Don't fight again like the other week, okay?"

Adam and Joan smiled at each other. "We'll give our best," Adam said and Joan nodded with a smile.

* * *

"Whoa," exclaimed Elya. "This is all just way too freakotastic."

Joan had to smile at that statement, she was sitting at the dinner table, across from her daughter, having just explained the biggest secret of her life to her.

Elya was almost agape. "I mean, you talk to God? Like, _the_ God? That's just way beyond my ability to grasp. I swear, my brain's rotating slowly in my head. I don't even believe in God."

Joan was taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, like, Dad took me to church a few times. But there's this guy standing in front of this whole crowd of people, going on about how God is watching over us and that we should all praise him. How does he know? It's just hard to believe that there's this... this invisible entity keeping an eye out for us when all you hear on the news is how there's war going on in the Middle East and people dying from natural catastrophes and plane crashes and deathly infections and all that crap."

"That's His way of keeping a natural balance. There can be no good without evil."

"But why does there have to be evil in the first place? Wouldn't the world be a better place if we just _were_? If there was no good and no evil, what would there be? Wouldn't we be better off without either?"

Joan hadn't expected such philosophical questions. "Elya," she sighed. "I don't have those answers for you."

"Yeah, well, that's too bad."

"I know."

"Can you give me a little time for it to sink in?"

Joan nodded. "Of course, honey. Take all the time you need. I'm sure you'll have a thousand questions. We can tackle those one by one when you're ready."

"Okay."

Joan got up and gently touched Elya's head. "You should go to bed. It's late."

Elya acknowledged the prompt and got up with a nod. "Yeah."

Joan watched her leave the room and shortly thereafter followed her upstairs. She found Adam already in bed, his head propped up against the headboard with a pillow behind his back, reading a book.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. He gazed up from his book and Joan said without preamble, "Our daughter doesn't believe in God?"

"Did she tell you that?"

"Yes, that's what she said."

"Then I guess that's how she feels."

Joan shot Adam a look. "And you didn't try to change her mind? You didn't try to talk to her about that?"

"Oh, I did. I took her to church. I taught her about the different religions and all that. Grace even took her to Shabbat a few times. We talked quite a lot about it. I can't make up her mind for her if she chooses to believe there is no such thing as a divine presence."

"You could have _tried_, Adam. Tried to show her there is."

"How?"

Joan lifted her arms. "I don't know! Show her little things, explain certain things to her."

He put down the book in his lap. "Explain _what_ things to her? I couldn't tell her, Hey, look, Elya, you said you don't believe in God, but your mother talks to Him, performs tasks for Him. He's as real as you and me. I couldn't tell her that, could I?"

Joan's spirit sunk. "I don't know. I guess not. It just feels..."

"... like she's betraying you?" he finished her sentence.

She nodded. "Yeah. A little."

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't really think she's an atheist. She always told me that she chooses not to believe in God for as long as she doesn't have proof that He exists. They call that agnostic. Maybe you finally telling her all this was the proof that she needed."

"Yeah, maybe so."

He reached out for her hand, stroked it softly with his thumb. "Come to bed. You look tired."

She sighed. "Yeah, I am. It's been a long day. Let me finish up downstairs and I'll be with you in a few minutes."

He nodded. "I'll be here."

* * *


End file.
